In flight from reality, the misunderstood angels of madness dwell, Taken with delusions that can be seen by them, they openly share. All things forbidden by the walls of conformity, on patterns and color, We lay down, exhausted, drawing from unseen forces everywhere.
The beat took a box from under his bed, half-propped on one elbow, He watched with intrigue as I drew life his perceptions, scrawled out, In pencil, he portrayed life more clearly than Ive ever it before. Unmasked, the twisted pain and pleasure of the life of loser, so brazenly rare.
I closed my and captured this moment in time. The and cadence, mismatched and un-rhymed, Said it plainer and than excerpts, refined.
After for coffee at a local caf, I took him to see my new dwelling. Once there, I took out my list of to vex, lighting the corner with fire, Reciting an incantation Id made up right then and there; his The corners of his mouth wryly up, his eyes danced with a fear he knew.
We looked into each others in silence, and he shared in my torment. the night I casually read his ranting for hours, unaware That the sharing of our souls was a mutual purging and We released each imprisoned emotions, all laid open and bare.
The beat poet nodded, as if, a dare and a snare He took my challenge, and we this, aware Of our connectivity with those of madness, everywhere.