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Joan Greenwood's Poetry Archive
Stories tell a tale, poetry's sell a soul
Insensitive are my own comments on my conscience,
even though my mother tells me to stop talking nonsense
I can't help feeling slightly bewildered in my personal haven
Is haunted by a blood thirsty nocturnal raven.
This raven even spills the battle loss into the sky.
Am I responsible for this animal? No, not I.

Recoiled from my own soul, a thread of self-malice.
Pull out this hatred, this envy, this callous,
sickness that not only I suffer from in this world.
So now I know who I am, my mind's map is unfurled
I beg, please now, let me lock myself away from
your mind, from the world , please succumb
Since I am obsessed and therefore possessed
Let me stay forever more, in a cuckoo's nest.