does anyone
know anything
as intimately
as a servant
knows their master?

i know every
deceptive curve
of my madness
ran my tongue
along the razored
edge of sorrow
channeled effortlessly
manic gigawatts
yet still remain
enslaved to it.

i just get so
goddamned lost
and it takes
longerandlonger
to remember
i have a face.
that i am here.

i don’t know which
pisses me off more:

when they treat me
with kid gloves on
or make decisions
on my behalf out of
some unwanted and
wholly misguided attempt
at sparing my fragility.

all life is
is a series of
patterns.
sometimes insanity
is the enigma machine
breaking the code.