I dialled
your number again and again I felt empty you
didn’t answer
again and again the
sensitive can go crazy with little
provocation I was
alone and drowning in my own shadow and you were not at home you were never at home there is madness in
love and reason in madness and love is often the reason for madness
we are all crazy and the crazy in us can motivate us in inexplicable ways madness
is my saving grace madness is my
adaptation my antidote to people like you I wanted so badly to be close to you not just to fuck but to be with you perhaps I was lacking but maybe it was you my love didn’t just die it submerged into secret depths where it hid curled up in foetal disgrace over time it curdled into
something that left a bad taste
I took
some comfort from my madness the familiarity of my dingy surroundings the privilege of the lonely the
freedom to be alone I sought no understanding I
would not be enslaved by understanding we each possess a unique world distinct
from all others reality is an experience and
its veracity cannot be established by any doctor my
world was bona fide I was a grave instrument with a bloody handle a
rotten burlap sack full of killing stones
and
I was high I was so very high that I nearly died of vertigo
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