More Ryhme des mots

Mania

The Bible says that when the earth is made new, there will be new colors.

May I place my hand on you shoulder and ask you a question?
Can you see them?
Are you one of the few who can count their blessings on color wheels? Do you listen to the residing static in the air to see the light blues and the light grays materializing in the wake of sound waves?

There was a man with severed nerves and blinded eyes who claimed to have seen heaven before he died
Did he only see the colors?
Hear them whispering at the edges of his conciseness for days on end.
Body turned off and left for dead, did he breathe in the scent of the Angels as he claims? Or did he merely see the texture blaring in symphony at the edges of the pearly gates.

Did the man meet her highness Mania?

May I lean in to whisper a statement now...

Those songs that you composed as you fell asleep when you were a child, that is our language.
The tongues of the weary who still want to build.
The hands of the angels who came down to your forearms and blessed them with a chill, your very skin raised itself to the sound of their new colors;
The colors that the Angels paint on their wings instead of warpaint.

Mania calls us, blood stained hands and all, mania calls me to her feet to fall and I cannot help but dance there.
Laughing through the steps of a jig done at the edge of Tartarus.
Your feet, sliding towards the drop off, spin around in the ecstasy enveloping you and start over again without compliance from you.
Let it kiss your ear with its melody.

Every song will change its beat to match your heart, the colors becoming the ones without names, spinning into organized chaos, chasing the lights at the edge of the planet;
No concern for when to stop.

Has your heart swollen and began to ache? Like a water balloon filled up with an entire lake,
you doin' okay?

NO, I'M DOIN' GREAT.

Mania leaves no room for anything but good.
When you slip off of the edge of the pit you dance over, you will smile 'till you reach the bottom and start the dance over, among the beasts of mythology cursed to abide to her wrath, Mania herself does not care to inquire about your comfort.
About your desired path.
She will ensure that the lake in your heart will boil, freeze.
She will cease her whispering Angels and invite them to scream.
Do not look into her blind eyes, for she still sees
Happiness is nothing compared to Mania's breeze of a breath on your mortal neck.

But mind you, Mania vacations in Tartarus,

Her definition of happy is askew.

If I told you

I thought that man with the severed nerves was left alone in the presence of Mania.

Would you believe me?