A moon beam glides along the soft covers of my skin. Let the moon make me mad, I thought, For there is no fear in what is known. I beckon the sermons of wild men To settle in among the cracks of my skull. Spirals and stars may rest on my hands For a mind barren and lonely Holds not a life worth living.
Let darkness flood my life and dampen empty Hopes with beauty and love. I shall not stray from what is destined for me, For I will play neither God nor Satan in this farce Of innocent freedom and dizzying thought.
I do not fear madness, I fear the emptiness Of logic and rationality. For how can there be joy in knowing How it'll end?
Found this on a scrap of paper written in the middle of the night a few months ago when the moon was shining right on my bed as a bright strip and I flung open the curtains and blinds and window to see it