In a foreign land
Where mind exists under matter
To fly above the wire
Is a sin in the eyes of the self-proclaimed righteous
Colors and rhythms explode
Where the universe implodes in my head
Spin, spin, fly
I have purple fiber optic wings
They do not know me
So their judgments enrage me
Blood pressure rises
Box my head with the fever in my hands
I am mad
Even they think I am mad
But they don't see the madness at night
They don't wander about my mind
Am I meant for this?
Certainly not meant to be alone.
One day I will find those people who are mad like me.
I will be free to speak what I think.
This is no democracy.