THE PSYCHOTIC’S LIFE
- Trish Christoffersen
- Mar 1, 2017
- 1 min read
Crusted
Moss
Imbedded
On a
Rotted
Tree
Stump
Reminds
Me of
My
Birth.
Existing
Only
In the
Sense
Of
Breathing.
Clinging
Desperately
To
Other
Stumps.
I
Exist
In
My
World
And
They
In
Theirs.
I
Am
But a
Fungus
Surviving
On
Those
Who
Believe
It
Is
Their
Duty
To
Keep
Me
Alive.
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