Is it really?
I am none to sure if it is actually me,
Or how my mind perceives me to be,
Perhaps it is what the others see,
That encourages to me the lunacy!
I mean can l really be that sure,
That my mind is actually no more?
Its there, ticking beneath my hair,
So in the very least its got to be fair,
To say that my mind has not gone out,
That perhaps all its doing is strolling about,
Walking around trying to ponder,
On configurations that just take longer,
Alas its all of those puzzling confusions,
That creates and offers the delusions,
They are not that bad it has to be said,
It can be fun old times in my busy head,
Why is the grass green, and the sky blue?
Is there a point to it all, or is just you?
Lights are on, but nobody is at home,
Is it really bad to eat chicken bones,
Is there death afterlife, or is that reverse,
And what is really considered perverse,
Is window licking really an alien sport,
And do you eat the cobwebs or just snort,
What’s wrong with baying at the moon,
Or constantly rubbing a wooden spoon,
There are many, many more from above,
Too many, to actually write and talk of,
Question l have is this, is it really that bad
To be completely and utterly mad?
© Rory Matier 2013