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
