Within a tryst, beginning with a cold January morn, came the madness in infant form..

Course, that was long before anything called, love, came along.

Imagine no words exchanged.

No consequences…said.

Luminous, padded, cells.

For dirty deeds, such as these.

And, so, decades later, spawned lunacy takes intervention as a lover.

No accounting for the past…

It is simply a chained window to crime doused with periods of respite.

Mania, is but a word for fateful days.

Eras long ago.

Increments of a psychosomatic weekend pass.


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