DID ANDY WARHOL SUFFER FROM MENTAL ILLNESS

THE CHOIR SINGS OF AMPHETAMINE

There is gospel
In the puffs of smoke
And allow me to tell you
How ardently I
Love and admire you
       She said,
Although the proper
Wording is admire and love (you)

Does it matter?

I highly doubt Jane Austen
Is throwing a fit about it in her grave
So, why should I?

There is gospel
In the coffee stains
And you wanted me to tell you
How I make you feel
Assuming
You matter enough to occupy my thoughts.
Which, your assumption is correct,
You do.
But I am unsure what is real and what I created.

There is gospel
In dirty palms
And my sister told me it doesn’t matter whether or not it is real
It is still me
And I thought about that for much too long and I concluded that there is no such thing
As ”me.”
My mother told me that a thought is only a thought
       “Don’t let it consume you”
But I am only my thoughts, right?
Or, maybe, I am both my thoughts
And what I choose to
       Present.
Is choose the right word?

There is gospel in 4AM
And my friend told me
She did not believe in fate
And that night I stayed up until
4AM and talked about
God
And I wept because I did not
Choose the
Gospel, It chose me.

Still there is gospel in
My mother’s words
       When she tells me
       “You will be stronger,”

and the choir sings,

and the choir,

will sing.

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