Inmates

We are all inmates, if we choose
To open our hearts. It is not
Evil to care, It is evil to destroy
I am evil, my name is death
The jailer is my mind
Cerebral cortex in a casket
Madness is a personal favor

My asylum is closed
Although I will never leave
My asylum is not without thought
My thoughts are known by one
Madness is a personal delight

I search for the other
I look for emotion
She is not allowed in
She is the jailer
My mind has erupted
Eruption give me eruption

The other Inmate has found me
Now how do I find myself
Lost, there is no joy in the jailer
Madness is acceptable

© 1994, William R. Craft, Jr. All Rights Reserved