one day.

..and one day i'll write stories about the moon. i'll paint the shapes i see in the shadows. i'll carve weeping children from the trunks of dead trees and i'll whisper all the words. One day.

there is a madness curled tight in my stomach.


restlessly it sleeps,
unborn and nameless.
grotesquely pregnant
with the secrets of the sky.

it is older than the trees,
and more angry than the ocean.
sometimes the mountains hear it coming,
and weep.

achingly aware of the hollowness of human bones,
with groaning shadows between its grave-stone teeth,

growing fingers and claws; becoming the rhetoric of love.
tempest-tongued; wheezing up the empty whispers of dying gods..

It waits.

and at times I scorn this, the only gift I was given, 
for without it I would surely be a hollower, happier man.

ignoble and ignorant and arrogant though I am,
I remain honest to the insanity within.

but one day I'll rip it from myself,
snatch back all the abandoned verses.
claw back the tears, 
unweep the rage.

I swear.
for madness or not;
I cannot, while being human,
break the laws of love.