It Flows.

It flows as it grows, streaming from brain to body.
It knows that it flows, teeming with feelings not quite naughty.
I feel it running across my eyes, like the tears in those saying their goodbyes.
It pains me to see the grand operation behind every great creation.
Things seem to me as if they have more than one relation.
They are all derived from the same feeling of shame.
The shame of being something much further from sane.
Something so far it's beyond insane.
Then inverts itself back into sane.
To be there and back again is more than enough to inspire the state I'm in.
Tell god I said, "Let those who are dead be dead."
I don't think I need a heaven to exist in after I've lived and bled.