SHEDDING SKINZ

               There are goldfish on the manicured grass.
              Now you see them,  
             "No you don't".
             Through rose coloured gothic windows he cries"Nurse!,
              and realising he meant me,
             I tried to soothe his visions with my newfound ego.

             Tortured by emotions some call genius,
             with twisted tongue writhing like a rabid dog.
              Abject glassy eyes roll skyward
             for a gentler place than this.
            
             Sedated gargoyles incognito ,
             haunting pathways Mr.Average fears to tread.
             No more candles on his cake to count the years.
             No one at home.

            And I in uniform, clutch my knees
            to rock amongst the goldfish on the manicured grass.
            Weaving baskets
            and shedding skinz.