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I’m Not Mad

I’m Not Mad

They think I’m mad,
an aged mind that’s
simply given up.

They talk to me slowly,
check I’m not cold and
feed me like a baby.

I gurgle and dribble,
but I’m not stupid,
just confused and lonely.

Here they come again,
tucking in my blanket,
smiling but not smiling.

One day soon,
when I can remember the words,
I’ll tell them to stop.

Mike Jackson

Categories: Micro Fiction Poetry

Mike

A writer of short stories.

I look forward to reading your comments

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