Psychotic-ness
where in the abyss
can I fly to my dreams
where responsibility streams
like feathers through your hair
and dripping tears, Despair.
of lonely mid-spring nights
and tumbled breathtaking flights
that lead to stony shallow brooks
riddled with dead fish hooks
covered and soaked to the brim
spilling frothed foam
like sea water monsters
and seaweed tears.