Slipping Into Crazy

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I intuit that feeling my prophylactic veil is slipping,

The ominous sun and reviving moon, trading places in my mind.
 

I do not know if the hours call for me.
 

Is the second hand playing a falsity?
Is the gong echoing a parody of a clock’s chime?!
 

I cannot gather the light enough through my crusted eyes.
 

I focus onto the nimbus refracting before me, and pick the less dark of the taunting prism’s scarves of light
.

This is what it means to split into crazy.

I will never stop running and so nervously inside, throughout the catacombs of my fractured mind!
 

The v-e-i-l was but e-v-i-l, named differently
.

It damned out all of the sun’s intended resurrecting light, and giving direction to the fields of mazes before me, that I now drudgingly navigate but lost for all time.
 

I grow colder under the day’s warmed rays, I lie sweltered under the night’s perjured skies.

This is where I reside now, into crazy,
Hell’s foothold secured solidly in my mind.
 

RW

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