Communication Through Poetry in the Therapy of a Schizophrenic Patient

Poem on Admission

I would bleed in the guillotine,

Protecting your mouth, so mean, obscene, and squeaky clean.

I would hang by a noose,

Guarding your hot addictive juice.

I would stop bullets,

Shielding your full tits.

I would suffer under the headsman's ax,

Chaperoning your body and kitty that smack and wracks.

I would gasp in the chamber of gas,