Madness

Welcome to the madhouse. No doctors or nurses here to pick you up and dust you off, this is your home. Madness, how I’ve lived in it and reveled in it. It is a coveted curse, madness, to those who know of it. A poison sweeter than ambrosia but deadlier than nightshade. Oh, how it grips at the soul and tosses it about in murderous winds, yet how every moment of it takes you by the neck and each second of that gouging misery is just as addictive as a potent drug. Not many people know of madness, they are lucky. They live in bliss, controlled and swayed by their myriad distractions, for once this daemon has seized you in its maddening grip, it never lets go, how you crave every moment of it and how it leads you on into an insanity so profound you are so far displaced you can never return home. It takes over you, lives and breathes as you feeding on every semblance of sanity and control you have and pushing you off into a chasm so deep all you feel is the rush before the splatter, and the rush, oh that divine beauty, when every single cell of your entire being rushes forth into a crazed frenzy and pounces forth towards the only goal that madness sets before your eyes, ignorant and mindfully neglecting all the spines and daggers beset before the path. Oh the pain, the pain that madness brings. It spurns you on into focused, dazed rushes where everything is but a blur but you are completely invincible and you dash forth bleeding from every slit on your skin and cut veins and arteries aware of nothing but what you seek. And madness, this vengeful being, spurns you on with illusions of grandeur and greatness into mandatory suicide. And when your object is so firmly out of your grasp, when you’ve learnt you’ve been  chasing mirages, it dispels itself from you leaving you cringing and regretting when it’s too late to even begin amends for every mistake that the audience can only see as wilfully brought upon. And when you are left with nothing, shriveled and curled up on the dust and ashes of your dreams it is Mephisto again offering its hand unto you, another promise of grandeur and greatness, the only hand that reaches out to you, set so far away from any scope of help or retrieval. And that hand, that treacherous, vengeful, venomous hand that poisoned you into destroying yourself, using you as a conduit for your own seppuku without honour, it is the only hand of God that reaches out to this fallen Adam and you grasp at it again, the pain lingering, wounds and slits upon your being never to scar, forever condemned as living beings of torture, but unable to resist. For now, madness is your only friend, madness is your only God, madness is the only thing you can ever hope to aspire to and become and you let it take over you again. The rush returning, the might of God into the soul of Satan, you run, you run faster, you scream louder, you laugh in your crazed madness as tears stream down your pale lifeless face as your dreams only are blisters upon your spine and you go through it again. Emptiness can never be a friend, nothingness is impossible to grasp at escaping ethereally from your grasp so you let madness consume you again. Again you rush in this darkness, stumbling and being torn as you slip into deeper and deeper abysses, madness torments you, leaving you to rot and returning as your faithful savior. And finally, it ends, you cross the line to never return, madness is your only true being and insanity is your love. Life has finally begun the moment everything you are has ended, there is nothing more but just blinded screams and laughter echoing off the walls of your empty mind, growing ever louder and louder, and you are what you have finally chased after. Nothing more. The world is my asylum. There is no escape.