Isn’t This Paranoia?

(no, you’re just paranoid)

With my eyes closed there’s nothing else left in the hole to fill with hope or in the ears, where the head is all the world is caught up in inertia of the torpor of the whirlpool in the mind, where the sound of the song never interferes and never leaves me except for the voices who call my name behind my back to make me break though I don’t want to break I know I don’t want to to make the eyes open with a guilty start like a bird with wings from a quaking tree to fan the wilting air with quickening angles in sudden expectation of a knife or axe your lover’s died they’re knocking at the door the bleeding heart is beating in the floor I can’t take it any more they know I can’t take it

26 August 1976