Sanatorium

I remember you from my dreams,
Dear Man;
you used to brush and smooch and call me
all the visions.
But now I see you with my eyes,
hear you with my ears,
feel you with my skin and
know you with my soul,
yet I kiss you not.
Impossibilities so tender that I
nearly cry,
but then you would exist and be departed.
I much prefer you here and ærial,
since alone I cannot stay.
So either strap me to the bed and torture me to reach the truth,
or else just stop there and confess that
I am right and they are liars.
But why bother with mysteries unsolved? -
- I know I'm mad; I'm born in madness.

by Angelica Bustle

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