"We're all mad here."

      A poem for you today. Because poetry is awesome.


Sometimes, when I lick my lips,
I taste hints of Madness.
It lingers on the edge of my words
to be caught and brought on an intake
of breath,
savored and mistaken for a
sought-after decadence.
Only my teeth, snapping in sentences,
rearing in laughter,
grinding as the guardians of my mind
ward it off--
make it lie naked on the page for my
acceptance or dismissal.

Except in sleep.
In sleep, sometimes, my lips part:
an unconscious sipping of the darkness.
Then sometimes Madness
which lingers on the edge of my smiles
like a particle of dust creeps into my lungs
blood
brain
and dances forcefully in my dreams.

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