I lied my way to insanity, turned
silver chains of care into barbed wire for
ripping loved ones’ flesh and psyches, then burned
old photos of family just to soar
alone through paranoia’s black-ink mist.
Denial portrayed falling as flying.
Shocked by my drunk frame’s crashing, I’d insist
I was fit to fly again; thought lying
paralyzed in my disease’s mire would
appear to others a heavenly state.
But now this sponsor guy tells me I should
surrender every day. Man, how I hate
being told what to do. Still, my hazy
brain believes him when he says I’m crazy.
Roger Armbrust
March 10, 2010
