I’ve met death, held it in a bear hug.
It slipped away in my arms,
A mist-like guise of ether.
No tunnel awaits, no smell of sulfur.
Just the peace of nothingness.
I awoke from this daze, unloaded
My gun and sheathed my knife.
I realized then that I am two, not one:
The method and the madness.
Both are equally important.
Madness gave birth to a method
To channel it creatively.
Otherwise, insanity is a bloody-
Toothed raging behemoth.
The beast still lives within,
Locked inside a cage of ink pens.
It spends its days drawing
Apocalyptic doodles and sleeping.
It snores harmonica notes.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen