...sometimes I do...I think I'm mad. Worrying that the sky may fall and the brilliant blue will shatter into millions of pieces...and the stars will draw blood as they wing themselves past me.
And sometimes I cry into the silence of the night, my sorrow echoing and dancing through the shadows. Sometimes dancing a fast tango, eager to reach hell...others clinging at my heart, squeezing every last out.
I cannot always feel this way, can I? Dreams try to steal me away - have you ever been to Dreamland, I wonder?...as far as it is to the moon, but if the fairies take you, you'll be safe as a dead butterfly, it's soul gone to rest. Wonders await you in that beautiful land, a place where nothing goes wrong, anything is possible. You can fly if you want,...you have love...and what could possibly generate more love than love from love itself?
If people say you're crazy, then they know nothing. Their imagination is clearly far removed from their soul...like death in the wind - black, charred, toxic. You cannot diagnose. To diagnose is to cause death - an ending for all, an escape from the light of the world. It's as fatal as letting Hannibal Lecter slice open your head and roast your brain. Because, like his victims, you will swallow anything, puppet like.
I refuse to be tied to pieces of string, moved by some corrupt force. Do to me what you will, but don't steal my mind. I cannot live without my mind.
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 136