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November 19, 2007

Another Brief Essay on Madness

 

Have you never wanted to soak a novel in your blood.

A thick red wet cube,

written across the top in black.

If you kissed it your lips would be red.

When it dries it will crinkle and smell

old like the oldness of your veins,

and be more of a relic to you than the Byron open on your desk

or the poems you write that no-one understands.

With faith and feelings naked as her form,

She stood and stands a rainbow in the storm…

A thick red wet cube.

The library shakes in the storm.

The library has more books than a man has blood, and that

is why man must go insane.

Observe that girl, she was a painter once,

but now she bites her nails and is too weary of life to read.

Books frighten her fingers into scrawling over their

pages.

Why do they ask her to read?

Why do they ask her to write?


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  • Charlie! you filthy filthy girl! Still, all this is very amazing. well done :) didn't see you over e… by Adam on this entry
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