They said it was normal,
this dilema in the mind,
No one can ever make the difference between the outstretched mind of a poet and the spirit that’s being eaten away by the birds of madness.
So we wait,
for the epiphany, for the breakdown.
I want to sanctify my lungs see?
Feast on the abundance of my own wishes-
there is something rich that happens when the bright sparkle of the want touches the grainy dark of what hides behind the light,
Once again, my dreams and all of my shadows have come to crumble on the back of one another, they have come to collide,
like meteors scratching atmospheric skin,
It only ever bleeds golden awe.
And me, I am forever oblivious to when I shall be struck.