Psychosis Has Icy Hands

Envisage the grim reaper
Acquainting himself.

With one dominant swing of his scythe,
He severs you from normality.

Suddenly conscious to the fact
You will live on as a ghost from your past.

Resting it’s icy hand on my soul,
Psychosis paled my youthful blushes.

I relive the confusion of that day,
Asking without reply, “Why me?”

I have been left to ponder
The mystery since age thirteen.