Is it madness
to put my life on display
like paint on canvas
all walls eventually crumble
as do my own while I stumble
deeper into this public plane of existence
layers of resistance crackle and fade
like the wall on which my world is displayed
and who would believe
that anyone would read
my rambling, tumbling, scribbling, stumbling rhymes...
madness or just cracked paint on canvas
but I write on regardless.
Seen or unseen...
It's like breathing for me anymore.
Poems I've written over the course of my life and recently.