Madness
Madness in women takes a particular form
It doesn’t snarl and lash out with the muscular
Intentionality of a male pit-bull, intent on savagery
Nor dissolve into rumination and despair like
Much used handkerchief incapable of holding more tears
No. Madness in women is like epilepsy
It creeps up unawares, whispering in your ear all the while
Maybe you won’t have another fit, perhaps you’re free
Of that taint, rendering you fallow, unthriving, jerking
Puppet without strings, held up by electric vault, the brain
A tormentor, a God, the plague, salvation
Madness in women has no tongue, no eyes
It feels blindly in the yellowing dusk of losing all
Ash in pockets weighing down, the taste of old
Wallpaper in the air like they just dropped another bomb
Eventually madness pins women in the middle of this locked room
A writhing insect needing no further dissection
And still they will…
View original post 130 more words
cabbagesandkings524 