A Nursery of Insanity with Vanity Doors
The insanity had four doors
Neither vanity was a way out.
As endless directions spun upon a compass point
With each circle degree a mere fury joint
Between the scars of a past bout
And the forecast of eyes seeing to anoint
A mother’s misdeeds and ghastly scores
While father was emptying his gut upon the floors.
The only escape from circle’s infinite route
Was to find growth by separation
From the betraying connection
To all true and false relation
That created or destroyed the mortal gap
And grasp of mind to its fear and anxiety
Spinning and tittering in a mad society
With pent fears straining to snap.
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