Pure darkness brings forth the light of your heart. Your heartbeats power your mind. Your mind. Your mind is a sunlight chapel with blood on it's stained glass windows. On a rock above the sea. In the middle of an ocean of wine. Crimson as a rose. Like the only rose that grows in the garden of your hands. Your hands. Your pretty, delicate hands. Delicate as china. China's sweet bamboo flutes. Oh how they spew butterflies and notes that enter your ears and make your stomach full. Ears are funny shapes. They sit on your head. Beautiful head. Two eyes two ears two lips one nose. Eyes made of glass. Glass made of sand. A million grains of sand in a sandstorm. Absorbing you into it and tearing you to shreds. Your remains scatter over the lake. Lake of mercury. A planet melted into a silvery liquid. Mercury. A god. Who the fuck is god? God is love and god is hope, she tells me. Who is she? I do not know. I know not who talks to me. She sits beside me and speaks such beautiful words. Who is she? She has the name of a Goddess, and she speaks to me of her god. Her sister of the soul, the girl I love. The girl who causes flowers to bloom in her hair and birds to sing wherever she walks. She speaks to me when I least expect her to. When I need someone and believe that all hope is lost and that soon, very soon I will die. Glorious, glorious moonshine. Have I gone mad?
"Glorious, glorious moonshine, have I gone mad?"
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