Wednesday, November 28, 2012

They said that I was mad

They said that I was mad,
because it made them feel
better. The finger pointed
at another; projection dangled,
dappled doubts, upon the
form of hangered mind.
In sending out the fear,
and rage, and terrors of
the dreaming night, they
draped themselves in
purloined clothes of
purity and distance.
And I stood there,
holding on my empty form,
the worst that they could
be and disappearing into
the robes of insanity,
made manifest as me.
The scapegoat of the
family; the villain of the
peace; the one who would
be other, so they could be
deceived and know
themselves as perfect;
as all that I was not!
In crucifix of being,
they nailed me with
their thoughts, and
sent the spear of certainty,
into my waiting side.
I was their demon saviour,
the monster manifest,
in bleeding, waiting
sacrifice; the one who
loved them most.

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