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I
have tried everything,
but no matter what I do
I cannot stop these
disconnected revelations
from impinging themselves
upon my mad and tormented mind.
Pieces
of my soul continue
to be chopped up and converted
into mental images.
Images
waiting
to be translated
into words.
Words
which
my mouth has to utter,
and
my hand has to write.
I
am a prophet.
A
prophet without a God.
A Godless Prophet.
A prophet of
my own madness,
of my own illusions.
A mad Prophet.
A mad Prophet.
...
Sanity
revisited is dull and confining.
I burst in tears and yearn for
the visions that put the universe
at my fingertips.
...
I
am insignificant.
I
am nothing -
a
hole in time,
a
rip in space -
endless
suffering.
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