Ode to a Schizophrenic

Who is the diseased?

The quintessential question.

Is it you,

padded and locked,

lying on the cold bed,

or the keeper ,

who holds the keys to your freedom.

I envy thee,

with all thy pains,

the fight though is only with thyself.

But here in the real world,

skirmishes rage on ,

where is the desire for introspection,

or even a chance to think about oneself.

Who is the diseased?

Now I begin to comprehend,

and as the shroud of darkness lifts,

over my thoughts,

I come to a conclusion,

that though the sickness is spreading,

You remain untouched.