Taming the Prophets

Just know the reason that I’ve gone insane. Just know the reason, know that there’s a name.

Most madmen’s eyes are clouded by the opium which they breathe, dreaming vague and meaningless dreams. This madman’s eyes are cruel and cold, alike to a broken mirror which in part still portrays reality—the mad reflections in his mind were not wholly insane, merely distorted.

I lost the cabbage in the well
and made them buy and sell.
I got a piper to the grave—
the corpse is all we save.
The clouds don’t like your look;
should not have read that book.

The opium now floods his veins and no more truth—no one complains. No one should know that name that makes the prophets tame.