The Writing of a Madman
written by: Jeff Flaig
To the morning, I hope to travel, till I can unravel
Dreams sure to find me laid upon my bed
Was I weak in sickness, or did my nightmares witness
shadows prancing, prancing within my head
Will I find meaning, I wonder, subconsciously scheming
How early light would surely find me dead
And when I pour, my glass of red wine, and sip my deadly rhyme
Reaping the madness insanity fed
Perhaps it was my writing, when troubled I was fighting
Did nightmares dance, dance wicked in my head
For paper and pen, though determined, I could not defend
this heart and soul for which I often bled
Yet struggling, with mad desire, freedom I require
My discharge from this torture of the dead
with lifeless uncanny dreams, be it through whatever means
I conspire, conspire in my head
Means to be released, and I pray, I will not be fleeced
Of life while lying upon my bed
Was it sadness, or lifeless fashion, I battled my passion
During the blackness of the night I bled
Nor distressed I remember, as if some cold December
laid memories, memories in my head
The dreams bring madness, painfully, my thoughts bring sadness
from the feasting darkness which death has fed
Should the sunrise, when in my sorrow, I should die tomorrow
Cursing and writing about what I dread
At midnight by the fire, I refuse to retire
For black shadows, shadows that fill my head
And through midnight flame, anxiously, until morning claim
To unravel dreams sure to fill my bed
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