Madness whispers a little louder to me every day. as sanity’s
offerings continue to pale. Wonder and awe or dark drudgery.
“Why not?” she speaks softly, seductively. “Why not?” And
what answers I can muster come from far away as if muttered by another’s lips.
Let me be mad. Let me drift beyond the boundaries sanity has
lain out for me. Sanity kills dogs and grandmothers, it hands out parking
tickets and extinguishes color. It need not be.
“There is another way,” she says, her voice ripe with
brightness and hope. “You can choose.”
As I drag myself to the dark dungeons of truth she holds out
her hand to me and pleads, “I am yours.”
Her laughter is beguiling, the laughter of youth. She speaks
of butterflies and bright blue skies while reality talks of factories and
polluted seas but its voice is one of authority. Madness, madness is me.
Reality is a cage, a boundary, a prison, a resignation. It
is what is left after every other option has been exhausted and extinguished.
Reality is despair, it is a sad surrender. It is social security for the tired
soul, the old folk’s home, a morgue for the body that awaits the grave.
Reality is a pre-arranged marriage made by my parents
without my consent. Its laws were laid out by those long dead, a corpse’s hand clawing
the face of the future. It is written in code to coax the mind to betray the
heart.
Reality unites us in thought, but madness unites us in
spirit.
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