I
I have tried everything,
but no
matter what I do
I cannot stop
these
disconnected revelations
from impinging
themselves
upon my mad
and tormented mind.
Pieces of my soul continue
to be chopped
up and converted
into mental
images.
Images
waiting to
be translated
into words.
Words
which my
mouth has to utter,
and my hand
has to write.
I am a prophet.
A prophet
without a God.
A Godless
Prophet.
A prophet of
my own madness,
of my own illusions.
A mad Prophet.
A mad Prophet.
II
Sanity revisited is dull and confining.
I burst in tears
and yearn for
the
visions that put the universe
at my
fingertips.
III
I am insignificant.
I am nothing -
a hole in time,
a rip in space -
endless suffering.