Tormented
The asylum doesn't
seem to work
for him. They
have tried all they could,
but have come up with nothing.
"He is possessed," he heard
one of the men in white
say. "We can't get
them out of him!"
He spent most of his time
scribbling theorems
and equations
on a wall,
and sometimes on a ceiling
if his inspiration
made him feel high.
The stuffs in his head
made him feel
like peeling his head
like an onion,
and scoop out the
knowledge that was
suffocating his thoughts....
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