Beautiful and Stupid

Ramparts, looking over the water, littered with graffiti that is pointless, but the accent marks are beautiful to anyone insane. Those ramparts spoke to me in a dream, mouthing words that ended up combining a sonnet and a limerick. Both are inseparable in my mind, but it cannot be received in any other way than the one I refuse to show you. Playing by these rules, which certainly aren't mine, can make a person mad. I am already mad. Maddened by those ramparts which were just heavenly in their delivery, but a bit haphazard in the aftermath. These things don't work out to be as they are suppose to. Instead I find myself constantly asking why these things work out the way they are. I cry as well.