Sestina of a Psychotic Mind

What are you looking at? You looking at me?
Do you have a gun, you punk? You must
have a gun if you want to look at me like that.
Go ahead then, take it out, why don’t you?
Well, so you do have a gun after all then.
You didn’t act so tough when you were alone

without it the other day. Both of us are alone
right now, punk. It’s just you and me
right here in this room. Think then,
before you act. In fact you first must
realize that the advantage is not with you;
I have a weapon with me exactly like that.

Yeah, that’s right. What, you thought that
I’d let you get away with it? Now leave me alone,
I don’t want to see you or anything related to you.
I’m sick and tired of you following me
around everywhere ─ literally. Must
you be present wherever I am? Then

why are you following me? Go on then,
speak up, punk. Say something! What? Say that
again? Were you talking to me? You must
be talking to me. Remember, we’re alone
here. Go ahead ─ why don’t you explain to me
how is it possible for me to catch glimpses of you

even in the most unlikely places? You
once appeared to me in the bathroom; then
again in a crowded street, you looked me
straight in the eye. The only bad thing is that
it seems no one else can see you. I alone
can sense your presence. This must

mean that you’re not real. Then I must
be going nuts! I’m real, I exist. But can you
be real if you exist in my imagination alone?
How do I tell truth from fiction then?
Both of us cannot be real, therefore that
means one of us is an illusion, either you or me.

Only one must be left standing alone. Let’s agree then
to draw our weapons and fire at the same time, that
we may know if you are real, or it was all just me.


*circa 24 Mar 2006

Sting Lacson

A writer. By degree and by profession. Also strongly advocates ten-finger typing to all writers because that's what you do for a living, so be efficient at it.

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