The bugs are no longer at the window, the bugs are in my ear.
The grip that I had on sanity then is tighter now.
I once did an experiment on schizophrenic speech.
I took words from schizophrenic people, and words from poets, and put them in chunks of text
and had people guess which ones were poets.
Most people got them right
the idea still stands
what is considered sane, and what is considered art, and what is considered mad?
The sunlight shifted in the cold apartment.
The blacktop was covered in ice and snow.
I once covered my head in a sheet and walked around like a ghost.
I had no concept of time I merely buried myself in my dreams.