Madness eats away

as if it has far to go at all. Those outside the asylums, we just hide our madness better, behind the lies and evasions of the reality we only see in the places between waking and sleeping when the veils surrender themselves to our fantasies and what we imagine is truer than we'll ever know. The words are there, grasping as tin-man strws as we struggle to explain away the unexplainable, to take the Mystery and shove it away in some small, dank room where we let academics bleed it dry, for there is no subject thet cannot make boring, given enough time. In the painful light of sobriety we see ourselves as what we really are and recoil backwards, the hopes strewn behind us like discarded candy wrappers glittering with their false promises as we wait for the Divine to come down to us, and areest us for littering. For thine is the kingdom, or so they say.
They should know better. The rends in the world bleed as points impact together, forming shapes unseen by the naked reye but visible to the discerning stare that has drawn outside the lines on a connect the dots and formed something wrondrous, and new. But they only see the blood, and the sweat, and the tears that stain the canvas with a silent sorrow that can never be voiced, a pain that cuts into the heart and makes you wonder if the blurry tear-stained world flecked with starlight seen from glasses is the light of a soul if we cut it, if all the stars are nothong more than places we've bled, wounds we have never mended.
We wash away our sorrows, bathing in the blood of innocents, but sooner or later trecords fiding the missing bodies. it's so easy, with the dead childen. But it's the unborn who are pure. The blood of the fetus is life. This is something you know, though no one has told you it.
Real truths cannot be taught, can only be experienced. That's what death is for. A new stage, a new chapter, a new milestone to be a millstone and slowly grind us down. Far bewtter is the Near Death Experience, our Birth revisited in a white light, and the voice of Heaven our mother. The snake eats its tail, the circle closes, but even the gordian knot unravels in the end.