insulin coma

Broadcasting over the radio, to her,
Alone in a crowd, portraying the human
She used to have been, tranquil, emotionally
Adhered to supporting the War, reasoning
The walk in the dark, stepping on dried
Leaves crumpling inside her brain,
She takes a walk, for the earth is shaking,
And she wakes up in a shaking panic,
She can not feel,
Senses only pain, but acutely aware
Of her senses, twisting the objectivity
In the science of mental illness:
A function of the state, driven by affectations,
And rage,
She can feel her bubble poked,
The reason why she’s hiding from the
Piercing stingers, claws and beaks,
Seeking to devour her liver, Prometheus,
And the god’s singing in mercurial relevancy,
Pushing the boundaries, disguised and thrown
To the filthy green sea, where there are no birds,
Only aquatic sadness, and lonely dreams
To come, when she finds herself alone,
Listening to the radio talking directly to her,
Referential ideas, rockets of professional
Doubt, screaming across the maddening sky