Reaching For Crazy (Poetry)

Someone somewhere is
counting up my crimes
small misdemeanours
they imagine mine
ticking them all off

Facts not important
I’m a handy hook
to hang some blame on
throw the heavy book
fit the crazy box

I’m not too quick now
or I’d wriggle free
skip years of heartache
think inventively
pick parental locks

Cut through the bloodline
genes are not worth spit
bunged full of secrets
no good comes of it
Time unwinds the clocks

I reach for the wine
search the place for pills
something to erase
the sum of all ills
sanity still mocks