It’s like
your mind is falling apart
into one thousand splinters.

And each splinter
becomes a single mind itself
thinking the thoughts
of one thousand thinkers.

Thoughts become incoherent,
causal chains become broken and messy;
There’s no rationality anymore
in thinking that’s supposed to be logical.

And the constant feeling
that the thoughts you have
aren’t even yours
is more than just confusing.

Disturbing is the perfect word
to describe the feeling
of your thoughts being stolen
or even be read by your surroundings.

Some say you’re crazy,
but that’s not true,
it’s just your brain
playing the games of insanity.

“Is this true what I see?
Is this real what I hear?
Is this reality
or is it just my insanity?”

That’s the questions
you’ve always in your mind.
But do you know
that it’s draining to live like that?

Turning into some kind of hyper-introvert
you avoid to socially interact,
holy solitude turns into cruel loneliness.

But do you know
that loneliness itself
can make you insane,
causing everything to worsen?

Becoming avoidant to life;
That’s not what life is supposed to be
to be at war with reality.

03/19/2015 Dywiann Xyara (I hope to bring a glimpse of understanding schizophrenia to the world)

why are some websites like

your password needs: at least one number, one letter, one uppercase letter, one color, one character from harry potter, the name of one us president, your favorite body part, and your favorite garment circa 1600s france 

in the dark, she tastes like you

Forgive me—
in the dark, her lips feel like
your lips, taste like
cherry chapstick
and the cinnamon on the rim
of your whiskey glass.

I let down her hair
and taught her to dance
with the same hip-rolling gyrations
that drive me crazy—
which you know all too well.

But no,
you two are not the same.
My fingers run through her hair
without getting caught,
and she chews peppermint leaves
before kissing me;
but she forgets I hate kissing,
I forget she hates dancing,
and last night she
scorched my fingertips on the stove:

I’m running cold water
over the scars where I once touched you.
I’m licking her cherry chapstick
off of my back teeth.

i’m sorry that you fell in love with a girl who can’t promise
sunshine in her hair and daffodils in between her fingers.
her mornings taste like a day old cup of coffee,
her nights are for fast food take out on the way home.
she leaves the door open in hopes that you will find
your way to her life at 4 in the morning when the world
fails to make you feel alive. she says yes and nods,
says no and shakes her head. she walks like the rain,
carrying a thousand tears kept inside her back pockets.
i’m sorry because you fell in love with a girl with more
bad days than the good ones. her lips taste like
your mom’s home cooked meals and loving her
is a sin your grandfather warned you about.
her love becomes the light that guides you out
of darkness and the very same reason for losing
your sanity once the full moon comes. her body
becomes the graveyard of all your what ifs
and what could have been. her soul becomes the
country you want to conquer and claim as your own.
i’m sorry that you fell in love with a lost child,
always looking for the next adventure
always lost as she makes her way back into your arms.
i’m sorry that you fell in love with a wreckage,
a museum of all the things that hurt,
a mirage of all her monsters.

i’m sorry that you fell in love with me.

Stuck in Dylan’s Mobile or Some Comparable Mental Prison

The suburbs and greenbelts

                                               hem me in just like

your authority and



               not the semen slick streets

the desperate terror

                                   covered with sweat alone at midnight

of a limp, impotent dick

                                         clutched in a trembling hand


             but the inner


                of the confines of my own skull


And desires

                     Like old fruit

Something is rotten here (and no matter) how far (and at what speed) we run

we will carry it (with us)

In the end

                  you must admit

Mobile’s just a city

                                unless it’s more

is it more?

come on, only you and I

                                         will ever know

is it more?

© David Rutter 2015

Purchase my book, “JUNKIES DIE ALONE" on Amazon or iTunes.