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A Rhyme of Madness MAG
Dying of thirst.
But trapped in a sea
where my deepest desires laugh back at me.
Drifting on a raft.
Made of tree limbs, tree leaves and vines. My course at sea is never simple,
never a straight line.
The sun burns my skin.
I can feel it sizzle, I can feel it sting. There's no shade to be found
on this wretched thing.
Aimlessly drifting.
But even madness has its rhyme.
Never quite simple,
Never quite out right.
To get out, you just need
a little time.
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