Would you understand if we did not hold hands today?
Loving would be simpler, if I did not stumble over the words…I am afraid to say.
You see, the madness pepper sprays the sanity.
The sanity…handcuffs honesty.
Honesty in the end, uses her nails, sharp as a coyote’s pointed tooth, to pull wallflowers off the wall.
You see, I am not feeling myself today.
Something, I am sure you already knew.
Madness is just something I go through.
Is it madness that succumbs to sanity?
Or, sanity opening the door to madness?
As I watch snow spit at the rain…icy shards of a tragic youth is all that remains.
Splashing ever so loudly on my windows and their pain.
It all appears as murderous conspiracy to blame the gray.
To blame the mundane.
Is it sanity that heals the madness?
Or, the madness that deletes the sane?
Could it be one in the same?
“Perhaps some day I’ll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorrow.” – Plath
A wizard, he hovered over the open gas can with…a well lit cigarette.
A ghost from summer’s past…she drove, as though, the heavens were on fire.
Believing destiny can out ride desire.
I cannot shove the madness aside.
It is rock heavy with conceit.
Daily a witness to death defining acts.
I am punch drunk from insanity…
Even true love avoids the facts.
As I walk the only road…I have ever been down…
The one that is elusive… and as of yet, untold.
I watch, as my own inevitability protrudes.
Heading down into uncharted foliage.
So vast there is no looking back…
Life, death, is also avoid-ant of the facts.
Her way to stay sane.
Her way to become mad.
Her way to inspire.
Her way to remove the plain.
She is the seductive curve posing in a devil’s empowering dress.
The manners of a full-lipped villain.
When she dips on bent knee, to confess.
Whilst dangling on the threads of word.
She brushes my skin.
With contemplation’s I had never heard.
Here and there…
no relief from indifference among the solitary prison besetting a mind.
I cannot leave.
Nor, do I want to.
I am suited
by leaving the outside world behind.
As for mother Eve – I wasn’t there and can’t deny the story, but I will say this. If she brought evil into the world, the men have had the lion’s share of keeping it going ever since. I feel like an inadequate machine, a machine that breaks down at crucial moments, grinds to a dreadful hault, ‘won’t go,’ or, even worse, explodes in some innocent person’s face
That’s when the music started I heard the light switch click I stumbled on a lost shoe The fever’s starting This man was getting hot I got no strength to make him stop I guess it’s too late But I’ll know next time To mix some water with the wine