I long for the cold linoleum of insane asylums...
Such white history...how it hisses it's secret's!
I long for the cosmic scarletite of lost dreams...
How they scream to me, every night-
calling, calling...
I long for the once resplendent beating heart-
It pulsates inside me like a hornet's nest...
The dumb vibrations, the sting...
I long for my ensanguined purity-
though it be tainted by cold steel...
I long for the bleeding to stop-
though bleeding leads to cleansing...
Upon a happenstance...
I may even wish -
Or perhaps dare...
Even believe-
in life.
VJA 2006
