Petes Poetry
The proof is in the pudding.
the proof of my schizophrenia is in my writing.
not interesting, not intelligent, nor funny or exciting.
of course I'm all over the place, and wouldn't know sh*t from clay.
and it's all in one direction, so apparently I've lost my way.
gee it's a long way to the top, even when I feel lower than low.
and it would'nt be the electronic nodes put on my brain, that have made this so.
of course sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.
but to say this is proof of schizophrenia is absolute sh*t.
i love, I laugh, and share my opinions on everything.
and if god did'nt want each of us to be unique, we'd all have the same D.N.A string.
so I beg to differ on your professional opinion.
What? seven years at univerity, and you still don't know how to make fillet mignon.
because I believe this is all cooked up, and a recipe for disaster.
why don't you just break both my legs and then say "My god, this man needs plaster"
Then insist guardianship audience ship be given to his so called family.
Who'll then give permission for electric shock therapy.
of course this man then is blind to see.
and the doctor's order the plaster for his legs to be administered orally.
Then holy hell this man has constipation.
and we all know the only cure for this is complete and utter starvation.
author
Peter Riddoch.
not interesting, not intelligent, nor funny or exciting.
of course I'm all over the place, and wouldn't know sh*t from clay.
and it's all in one direction, so apparently I've lost my way.
gee it's a long way to the top, even when I feel lower than low.
and it would'nt be the electronic nodes put on my brain, that have made this so.
of course sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.
but to say this is proof of schizophrenia is absolute sh*t.
i love, I laugh, and share my opinions on everything.
and if god did'nt want each of us to be unique, we'd all have the same D.N.A string.
so I beg to differ on your professional opinion.
What? seven years at univerity, and you still don't know how to make fillet mignon.
because I believe this is all cooked up, and a recipe for disaster.
why don't you just break both my legs and then say "My god, this man needs plaster"
Then insist guardianship audience ship be given to his so called family.
Who'll then give permission for electric shock therapy.
of course this man then is blind to see.
and the doctor's order the plaster for his legs to be administered orally.
Then holy hell this man has constipation.
and we all know the only cure for this is complete and utter starvation.
author
Peter Riddoch.
