Journal-January 10, 2008
January 18, 2008this bread tastes like gasoline and blood
photographs of the bodies, stale in the freezer
sometimes I hear treads on my stair
and fear it’s the people we never disposed of
my eardrums shudder, rippling neurons in the cortex.
the stairs I ascend with terror, as if a great white
angel with a machine gun in his hand wants to liquify
me, or a large boar is chasing my soft flesh
Those stairs are dangerous! And watch your back!
This bread tastes like the day I realized I was CRAZY.
{Another personal journal entry, I included this as an example of syntax because the slight disconnection between complete thoughts is evidence for the final purport of insanity. I am considering revision of the 6th, 7th, and 8th lines because they seem awkward, but I want to determine their enhancement of the speaker.}
