And out of the tides that be, you are but a thread grasped for the taking.
But the insane, and inept are they that fall into themselves, like a shadow-
and lo how insane, the rabbit hole goes;
if you were to only chase after what wsidom is unknown….
They are them that have fell themselves like a tombstone. They are them that are like stones…They are they that have fallen off the deep end;
and their faces stretch like the warped madness, tunneling and concerning.
To those who take great and utter pleasure;
into the chaos you go! Your faces will circle like the moon, and then disintegrate like a forget-me-not flower. You will glaze over like eyes, you will look up and see nothing. You will eat only the air of pure madness and hatred, and from one ear and out the other, so will your soul go…
you will have webbed knees, that stick to the chaos that you so sprint after; lifting dead limbs you will look up into the dead skies, with an empty blank stare.
Your face will be chubby off of the very greed of deceit-
you will roll down the headsman’s hill like a child frolicking down the meadows of hysteriam-
your mindless expression shall be in the form of drool; your wives and husbands will suckle off of that drool-
like honey it will taste good, but feel wrong and tommyrot.
The same way your soul suckles off of your choices-
you will be insane, and enjoy it-
and you will fear those who aren’t…You will see knowledge, and scream at knowledge. You will use your own words, to dig your own graves-
Your chin will be the shovel, used to scoop up your own words. Your eyelashes will act as the spears to pierce the winkening of love and remorse; hearts will be thorns, and thorns shall thorn against.
Your neck will stretch to chase after the rabbit of hate and haste, and your nose hairs will act as nooses to catch the bodies of your own kinsmen, entangled and enraptured, after your own shadows…
Your eyebrows will curl like a beard of deceit, your wives will do the same;
like a curtain your brows will act as the carpet of negligence; soft against the canvas of terror, your peace shall be the hay in the needle sack! Your snot will be the sweat pouring from the terror you imagined, and behind you, nothing at all, except your conscience will appear.
You will frown upside down the grin of lust, and your lusts will upside down frown the grin! You will fear those who wrought fear, because you have bowed before the fear of hate so long-
you will think chaos is the answer…And the rabbit that you so dared to chase after, will have horns, and hooves for feet…
Yet the face of a once recognizable reflection. You will curse it, turn around, and flee. Only to realize, that there is no ladder from off of your own nightmare and schemes-
And this be it the pride, and the madness of the folly.
Lo, what peace will only watch it from the distance; the shadows that have grown.
Lo the corridors, your shadow will roam,
if you were to only but leave it alone…
Copyright August 22, 2017