Delusional Content Trying to Be Stanzaic

O my god, flashed and splashed in dreams
And number plates: you dash off
For I am not quite ready to be baptized.

The word is wrong—the world is wrong:
You are showing us spirit, not psychosis, aren’t you?
Stop those smiles! I… are they…? If not

Come back, because you are true now.
Why do you make us scream and read wrong?
Priest, analyst, body: you have done

What you can,
But this is my own villainous expedition now:
I am sure that car… that car… him… me…

It is not abstract or popper: we are our own
Theory of anything, and right now, that symbol
Is beeping damage at me.

God? Goddddd? Are you in here? Am I out there?
Because it’s me: your son.
The walls are coming down

But I am a bit too much
Of everything
For the time being, big guy.