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Spoken version
A recorded reading of “A Dance with Delirium”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
Am I that which I was warned against— swaying into the jagged play with madness? Tin roof noon: the touch blisters. I reach for wires humming over the street, salt on my lips, glass in my shoe. The string jerks; a cheap theatre god coughs dust. I slide through this reefed wreck of a mind— rope-burned ladders, barnacled valves, a bilge light stuttering like fever. Corridors pinch to a keyhole; a hatch clangs shut. Knuckles taste iron. The question echoes; it needs no answer. For I can play with madness— and madness, it plays back.
Alternative version
Am I that which I have been warned against— swaying towards this jagged play with madness? A scorching touch, reaching for the burning sky, challenging my existence against the mountains of my loneliness. What purpose do I serve? Am I merely in service to some other, a higher or mundane self pulling the strings? I slide through this reefed wreck of a mind, drifting, lost among the corners of consciousness, watching as avenues close, doorways seal shut, walls rising like a fortress around my fragile sanity. The question echoes; it needs no answer. For I can play with madness— and madness, it plays back.
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