#46

Scribblings, Bibblings

Not even remotely sensical ramblings

Thoughts and fears

Truths hidden behind lies and equivocations

The genius succumbs to madness

Confined to these walls of white

The musings of a madwoman

Are the poetry for the ages

We take her words and for a sort of dogma

In our cult of words and coffee

Where love can be a curse

And solidarity is the only guarentee of preservation

And this warped romantic atheism

Is choking me

Killing off the real poetry

Leaving nothing

Nothing but the over emotional liars

Pretenders

Fakers

Such sensitive souls

Without a single soul among them

The only one with and semblance of knowledge

Is the one in the corner

Muttering to herself, rapidly talking

Scribbling out the insanity

Making the words fit

Minding herself

Reviews

[Steve Thompson]

like your stuff kiddo, And this warped romantic atheism

Is choking me

Killing off the real poetry, when you write its like you are talkin to me

[Wolfwind Words]

What a throw of the nine pins! You speak a that one truth that so many fear to hear!
That they write about their misery and pain, yet they never take the steps to make sense of anything or help themselves climb back up the ladder to better things.
The mad woman in the corner writing all that is, is in fact the sanest of them all. For she alone understands that which is around her, for she has sat back in the corner and watched the proceedings and has seen how God or fate has judged those that walk the narrow mind.
Great and powerfully wrought!
This words are those that could demolish religions and countries, if people in mass where to understand.