Poem: I’m Going Mad

Some days I know not how I fly from madness,
or how I walk and smile and speak to men
without a sudden breaking shout of pain.
I know not if I’m mad, for I have seen
—requite response demands that I go mad!
Yea I have seen: they worship death, and we,
subject to them, stay sane? I am for life
and so I am for pain and blood and terror.
All these are things I will adore, demand.
How can I write a fantasy when strange
reality comes barging in and makes
my song a pale and imitating joke?

The pit, hungry, consumes us all,
and only I can see.
The pit devours, and there we fall.
Forever there we’ll be.

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