What madness instills itself within my mind
Posing threats to my very existence
Biting off sanity for lesser consequence
Thought wields a baton like a ceremonial majorette
Never ceasing it's march in down-trodden rhythm
It's loud stomping feet drown echoes
Of silence disturbed as unguarded
Willows weep and faceless flowers bow
Never again to seek the sun
Escaping...
Hatchways close and lock
Although the turning of the keys are visible
The visibility of hand escapes me
Corridors are excessive and confusing
Paths are continuous and forked
Tis not a bridle path, but more so a thorned row
Riddled with inescapable lash and backlash
Scarring and impregnating with brine pricks
Inflicting greater pain to soft tissue marred
Although squamous torn
In its depth it festers and oozes life - 8/27/06
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