Cachinnating Madness

West Wynd

Amongst the ruins of a palaeogean place tiptoeing quietly where no foot has ever tread morbidly compelled by thoughts from another time I traverse the halls of the dead
The doctors prod at me in my cachinnating madness always asking questions though they never like my answers locked in this padded cell and tied in my straight jacket but their pills can never change the truth
hidden so secretly in this massachusetts town beneath the gambrel roofs behind windows boarded tight engaged in rituals to dark and nameless gods from eldritch tomes I recite