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Insanity Is a Journey for the Brave.

Take a look
around you
for just
2 minutes.

Itís there
isnít it.

Hanging on
the walls.

Jammed into
the cracks
between the
floorboards.

Dripping from
the light bulb.

When you
make the walk
to the corner
shop, pick up
a basket,
walk the aisles,
put the morning
paper in the
basket alongside
your pre-packed
chicken and bacon
sandwich and then
the 2 for 1
beer offerÖ8 for
the price of 4.

Itís there.

When you pick
up the packet
of chewing
gum at the counter
as the girl with
the over tight
shirt taps
viciously at
the register
with no
hint of a 
smile as you
place it down
on the counter
and sayÖ
ĎÖnice to
see the sun
for a change.í

She doesnít
even look up
as she bags
the stuff,
tells you
the total
and holds
out a pale hand
for payment.

Itís there
in your 
wallet, the
one that was
once a Christmas
gift from a
relative you 
never see or
a lover who
should of
known you
better.

You pull out
a note and
hand it over.

She snatches
it a little and
you keep hold
for an instant
forcing her
to make eye
contact.

She gives an
irritated smile
then hands you
the few coins
of change.
Itís there
as you leave
her to thrill
her next
customer
with her 
impeccable
bedside manner.

The sun
is there like
a giant flick
of yellow
paint from
Vincentís
brush.

Burning.

And itís there
when you
walk back
to your room.

When the
door closes
behind you
and you sit
at the desk.

When you
snap the
first of
the 8.

When you
lean back
into the chair
you can feel
it rising.

Itís there.

Hanging on 
the walls.

Jammed into
the cracks
between the
floorboards.

Dripping from
the light bulb.

Itís always
there.

But when
your fingers
touch the
keys,
move across
them, dancing
in the dim
lamp light,
your lips
touch the
can,
you flex
your hands
as you read
back,
and somewhere
in the distance
a siren wails
as next door
she yells
violence at
her childrenÖ

Öyou know
itís there
for a reason
and accept
it like a haircut.

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