Am I being mad?
Am I being insane?
Wishing to feed
upon your
warm brain,
so shortly after your death,
and suck
out all your blood,
from your very
veins.
Am I being insane?
Am I being insane?
Wanting to imbibe
all
that you embody,
all
that you contain
inside,
all
that goodness
you used to maintain,
so I can
remove
that accursed stain of civility,
from deep within my very depths,
from my very noddy,
innermost,
vesicular
membranes;
so I can
disdain
what we might become
without each other;
so I can
remain
so truly after you departure,
sane.
Sane.
Am I being insane?