A Shrieking mind's Inspiration.

If one morning
i wake and wonder,

of how I would like to be an insect,
laid out upon its back.
Hair, pincers and Legs
violently vying for life,
struggling, and tangling, and fighting, and...

Or upon one acrid Afternoon
I may revere insanity,

its insatiable mist, crawling across a wet moor.
with one eyed sheep,
sentinels of wool; and teeth,
herding me past with malice filled
stares.

Should I, atop the lonely
mount of night

recall those voices in empty air
at play outside my room.
hope they will speak
and inspire, if only of terror to come

Then is the day.
my yellow poems will burn.