How far would you go to feed your insanity? How long will you say that you will do it to keep it sane? The cuts wouldn’t be deep enough till the valley rises, the spring of wine to which your thoughts would succumb. The maddened lines embroidered artistically, delicacy you will find there none. Only the haste to finish the last chapter, you will take the glass through your hand till the last word is done.
How far would you go to follow the belief, that the only truth is god’s son? Will you turn the page in disinterest but thrash yourself in urge for some? The naked truth is as stark as the vice in your sermon. It shows itself, in the torn paper and the glue which holds the replacement. The sham holds strong in the covers and the T-ruthless sin on the wall, with no water to wash the grey and red ink intoxicating the skeletons of your brain. Which keeps the bones from falling off, the veins from nearing the dock.
I would go without dough or a penny but let me keep my insanity. My hunger wouldn’t cease at all. My hands may be cut and my tongue walled. I will be my ink and quill and tattoo my being with the needle that doesn’t prick at all. I will write. I will stay insane to keep my sanity after all.