MEDUSA DISTRESSED

Fury of forsaken.

Beaten, abased, broken.

Insulted injury, abandonment

Of judge and jury.

Victim delusional

Religious confessional

In and out of the shrink’s office

The couch holds

Too many stories of

Incoherent endings

Of nonsensical treading

Delusional mind 

Smoking coils of Medusa multiply

A hydra head of confusions, errors

Neurosynaptic necrosis,

Schizophrenic hothouse, night screaming terrors

Narcissistic Alice full of conspiracy theories

Delusions, Paranoia, are floating hypotheses.

Wait a sec, the lady says,

Who the F… is Alice?

Acknowledgement: Last line from Smokey Robinson’s pop song “Who the F… is Alice”

LOCUS FOCUS

Fantasize. Fixate. Focus.

Feral puckish Locus.

False fetish.

Stench of Hubris

Balled up hostility

Clenched gut

Wrenching innards

Smelling taste,

Tasting scents

Far removed from reality.

Misplaced locus.

Flooded brain box,

Serrated hurt.

Left to Right,

Bicameral Shift

The dreadful cuts.

Gear box drifts.

Discord in narrative.

Life made pliable on

Mood enhancing sedatives.

Darkness curetted.

Thought’s pendulum

Foucault,

Slows down the entry f

Light.

Pupils dilate

In endless night.

MIND MELD

Her mind melded

A Vulcan soup

She is convinced

Her husband’s an alien, 

Trapped in a time loop.

She’s convinced, her lost progeny

Hover above intergalactic clouds

Hybrid brood,

Leaning over quantum ledges, 

On her Aurora borealis moods.

“Why you?”

The shrink tries to get her to relax.

“I was Chosen. Taken. Don’t know why”

She preens and basks.

Vanity is not a Vulcan feature.

She says her alien arm candy

Was a preacher, 

He came to Earth to teach her. 

But Why you? The shrink repeats.

She is quiet. She smiles 

Like she is full of it.

I was ready. To receive the doctrine.

But ... Instead, I bore his sons. 

Wrong side of the bed.

If you ask me, 

It’s too much binge watching

Netflix and Prime

It’s all happening in her head.

Suddenly she twists in her chair

Claims they are trying to reach her.

Who? The Shrink enquires, pasting a smile

On his face.

She leans in, to hand him her ace.

My sons and my daughters

The supreme commanders 

Of the Delta Sector.

She whispers sotto voce

“Take this”, the shrink offers a pill

And a glass of water.

She drinks it, gently shudders,

Convulses and then softly grows still.

Always a convenient twist,

A quirky convolution to her tale,

She pretends to faint

Always a wily way

To her demented irrational

Will ...

ABOUT AMRITA

Amrita has a master’s degree in English Literature, and has worked in the hospitality industry, several BPOs, and also as content creator for deductive logic and reasoning in English. Her three poems are about schizophrenia; life lived on mood enhancers and delusions.