Song Of The Tortured

Around me.

Circling.
Like knives.

Twisting.

Laughter in cruelty.

Grinning.

They are so joyful in
their malice.
My punishers.
My liberators?

Singing.
I am surrounded.

A thousand hands,
A thousand screams.

Release me!

In a world of
pain and red.

There is no respite.
No peace.

But in all this a
kind of freedom.

A NEW MEANING.

It must be spread.

I am
So alone
But
I have my
Oldest friend.
Dementia.

At its core sanity. A truth
that will be spread.

Prepare your minds.