Lunatics

there is this time of night
in every night, I think,
from 1 am to 5,
when poets, musicians,
magicians, painters,
and others that with each rise of the sun–
die,

there is a time for these–
for these lunatics
to indulge in their own insanity,
to drown in their own love,
and suffer in their own demise.
there is a time
for people like these,
when city lights go out
and people sleep;
some, in other people,
some under,
and some piled on top of others,
there is this time,
when they rush home–
these madmen,
all drenched in sweat
dripping in tears
and grab their pen,
their brush, grab their heart
form inside of their chest,
and splash it!

on the wall, on a canvas,
on a page, on a PC screen…
there is this time,
when they cry unseen tears
and break their 206 bones
in 618 places, while smiling.

Madmen.

there is this time of night
in every day
and often, to protect themselves
they get drunk, drugged
before the clock hits 11 pm
so they can fall asleep and survive
for another day, another day…
safe,
another day, another year…

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2 thoughts on “Lunatics

  1. Pingback: Lunatics | Joy of Life

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