Anything goes in the heart of insanity. Where infinity is derived down to the last hope; the heart of hearts. Where passions boil and desire bubbles; burned, ripped, trampled, robbed but still it beats, nonetheless. Setting pace…
Tap tap tap. Which vein has the best blood?
Dispelling of everything all at once, as raw as childbirth and as organic as its biology. Ripping, stretching, pulsing, clasping. Spasmodic birth, completely involuntary. Maybe my term was more overdue than I imagined. Screams, fear, sweat, pain. Yes! Like a spring shower with vengeance now released from strain and offering something of promise.
It wasn’t easy was it? It most certainly is not. It’s a dance of madness. No! A dance with madness, herself. In each step, fearing the moment when forced to confront the true fury in her eyes; of all that’s been ignored and suppressed over time.
Fragments colliding against one another, trying in vain to form some coherence. Both exhausted from restrainment and restless from inactivity. Yet muddled there, somewhere in the midst, lay the seedling of the woman I aspire to be. Anything goes in the heart of insanity.
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