What is true genius? A heavenly gift?
A priceless boon bestowed by sacred powers?
Or is it something one can learn to lift
With furrowed brow and toiling many hours?
It's neither. It's a malicious disease
Infecting those who've discovered their art.
With crushing blows it brings them to their knees,
Threatening to rip their minds apart.
It destroyed Nietzsche, and also Van Gogh;
Incapable they were to keep its jaws
At bay. It then began to take control
And gaping madness soon gave them no pause.
Accursed am I with this insanity;
But, unlike them, I will make it serve me.
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