She drags herself into my view
She's a wreck and I'm in love
With all that is her madness
Like a coat hung on her words
And I climb them like a mountain
Puzzled like its a castle
She's queen of all that's broken
I'm choking on her morsels
She's sick, I'm satiated
Initiated into her order
Chaos and disorder, sipping cups of tea
And I'm freely bound to love her
But I'm barely making progress
Depression has a price
That's sometimes high to pay
Staring at the cost, wilting flowers on her grave
Stephanie Fobert, that was my siren of disaster, we never formally did it, but I came close a couple of times, she was emotionally damaged goods, and I was the grocer ready to help her. Unfortunately we lost track, good for my sanity, but I don't know what has happened to her. Thanks for remind me of her.
Written with poetic originality and genius, but terribly sad. However a truly great piece.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The right kind of craziness intrigues us: we feel ourselves falling toward that dizzying interiority. Being crazy, she has a lot going on inside, and we want to explore it. Your words capture the fascination.