THE POET IS MAD

Years down the lane the poet believes she can look back and not feel anymore hurt

Years down the lane the poet may finally or may still not be understood for her lunatic actions

Years down the lane this poet will render due apologies to where they need be sent

But now, this very moment,  she is grappling for a hold on something, and with the grease gradually coming off her hands she is finding that grip…almost…almost there, do not, she begs of you, do not interfere

This poet is currently out of her mind

And asks not for a remedy

Leave her….

Leave her be mad

Leave her be stark, raving, mad

*The vulture says: “I seek long life with my foolishness”*

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