I am like a balloon floating in the wind

someone let go of my string

and now I go where no one knows

who is there to see me when I finally


How many pieces am I missing

to make this picture com-


My dreams are no longer a virginal white

they are opium brown-stained.



  1. Roy Gomez said:

    Hey, Bioman, I really like this. Powerful. It describes so accurately some observations I had regarding a now-deceased brother-in-law who was a PS. I was drawn to his absences, and actually found getting lost quite blissful. Of course, there’s so much more to it. But this offers a real nice peek into one aspect of that condition. Good job, bro.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Bioman said:

      Thanks Roy! I let my mind drift when writing, letting the words come spontaneously (almost) to produce a mish-mash of twists and turns that SOMETIMES, SOMETIMES comes out good. Thanks for the reciprocal read and taking the time to comment – it’s appreciated!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Hi Bioman,
    Your poetry clearly defines the thoughts of my dear mom who has also been suffering from paranoid schizophrenia.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Bioman said:

      I suffer with the label, aoh, and with the mental health industry who insist that removing me from my home and place of stability and incarcerating me, is good for me. Your Mum is obviously blessed. Thanks for the time, reading and words, I appreciate the sign of life! B

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Roy Gomez said:

    I don’t know you well enough to address your condition; but if it helps at all, allow me to say you sound cleared-headed enough to deserve the pleasure of home. Blessings, Bio.


    • Bioman said:

      Roy, I have been in and out of hospital because I keep harassing an institution, my alumnus, by e-mail, insisting on information that is not forthcoming. The University does not like it and so used their power to set me up with false allegations. The rest is history. So yes, I do deserve a place of stability and not force socialisation with a lot of strangers in a secure institution. I get exposed to violence and discord on the ward.

      There’s a lot of oddness on a psychiatric ward.
      There’s someone crouching in the laundry room serenading the Lord,
      And someone else is stealing bathroom plugs and collecting them in a hoard,
      And someone smashing up the lounge because the wrong football team has scored,
      Until they remember that it’s the right football team so instead they applaud,
      Whilst another patient is booking a thousand different trips abroad,
      And first class plane tickets that they can’t afford,
      Psychiatric wards are all hustle and bustle: locked windows, locked doors, white walled, linoleum floored,
      And bras hanging in trees by their strap and their cord,
      And a nurse scribbling everything down on a musty clipboard.
      Someone’s got a speaker and it blares out a bass heavy record,
      Whilst the dude over there tries to shave a plastic knife into a sword,
      And split milk and shards of glass where it’s been thrown and shattered and poured.
      Someone’s lost their brain so they’ve made a poster offering a reward,
      For the person who could find the place it’s been either stolen, hidden or stored.
      Then there’s alarms and someone banging against their headboard,
      And late night rants about “that nurse over there who’s actually a spy or a warlord,”
      And someone smashes up the donated musical keyboard.
      I’m part of the madness and stuck in it like an abandoned boat left knotted and moored,
      Chain smoking and smoking till my sanity is restored,
      Mute, jumbled, lock-jawed.
      Brain is twitching and itching because I shouldn’t be a patient: I’m a fraud,
      But I’m stuck in this shit ship till I get chucked overboard,
      Out of the void that is a psychiatric ward,
      Into the outside world where I feel lonely and confused and abhorred,
      Because being in hospital won’t win me a life or a trophy or a reward,
      I’m just bored.
      And flawed.
      But still getting slowly closer to the goals I aim toward,
      Because they can’t be found on a psychiatric ward.

      This was written by a friend of mine and says a lot about the experience.

      Liked by 2 people

      • Roy Gomez said:

        Thank you for sharing. That is clearly the stuff of nightmares. But your writing strongly suggests your working on the means by which you’ll achieve the peace we all deserve. Best, Bio!

        Liked by 1 person

      • Bioman said:

        You too Roy – all the best!


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