I paint monsters for living
Sea monsters and the flying ones.
Their beards grow by day
Their hands everywhere
Touching and feeling me
Sometimes my mind hurts
When they pierce it with their claws
Trying to find their birthplace.
I sit for days,
at the brink of my chair
Computing the cost of what I have created
Not the paint and the brush
But the imagination which I have let out
So vividly that now I see these monsters
On every wall I face,
Same canines, same claws,
Conniving against me,
A conspiracy, a killing
Not of me
But my mind.
What’s a body without its mind?
What would be left of me if they succeed?