I hear their screams in the cover of the night,
the cursed and the damned;
they don’t know who they are, where they are.
They have forgotten all their names and places,
shuffling down the corridor gaunt and blank;
I am at home with them.
They are more human to me than everyday lunatics,
Who cavil at the forge, eke out on fitful sanities
Who eat shit and call it caviar.
Madness reveals the core of our condition,
Those who cannot see, or feel, or perceive:
The mirror in the mirror, a stygian signal replicating.
Jace Paul 