The Price For Wisdom

Sickness breeds in my mind, They say. The kind of conniving tick That spreads and spreads, Like butter into the pores of my bread, Till all is consumed, Is swirling down the pipes, Of those fibrous roots. Till I am divine, And see what others fail to see, Hear what others fail to hear. They'll slap a label on me for it- Call me crazy. That's the price one has to pay, To achieve this kind of wisdom, This flood of truth, This dam of the brain Broken into a million pieces Of rubble and unintelligible splendor. Lurching me into freedom, And far away, so far away, From the truly sick, The truly demented vultures, Who swoop and pick At the remains of my innards, In hopes of satisfying Their selfish hunger- Their selfish need To fix.