Your brain pummels inside the skull.Beating its squishy pulp against thick fibroid walls, crying every time. You don’t know why. All you can do is stare at the world through itchy, dry eyes and every thing you see begins to burn in front of you. Nothing makes any sense anymore. Not logic, not nonsense. Nothing. It’s like the centre of your world just got shot by a cannonball, and you are left standing upon a black volume of vaccuum. It keeps sucking you inside even as you fight it, with the last amount of strength left in you. No one gives you a hand. People look at you like you were a weirdo. A drug addict, drunk, hobo beggar who has lost his mind. Yes, you have lost your mind. Insanity never felt so rational. But how can you feel? You are numb. Numbness is a feeling in itself. Se what I mean,hahahah see what I mean. How can you see meaning? You can only ..i don’t know what.. Fucking language!!! Never conveys what you want to say in the exact terms.
Breaths come in with a great difficulty. Every gasp wishes to be your last and you wish the same back. And yet you can’t stop breathing. It comes in fast and full. Filling your empty lungs with a light gaseous matter that enables your mechanical heart to beat on. You have half a mind to grab that lifeless mass that is keeping you alive and squsihing every pint of blood out of it. It’ll stain your hands, but you don’t care.
All you wish for is death. Death. An end to all ends. When the whole world will fall silent. Nothing speaks nothing moves. If it does, you’ll never know. Peace at last. No questions asked, no answers to defend yourself with. Freedom in all its pure absoluteness. You are mad. Mad is what the world calls you. Funny, you should call it a madhouse. Yes, you are mad. The maddest of all people in this asylum. A lunatic beyond comprehension. You dance to silence and sing to death. The world goes on like a pallid dream in front of your sleepless eyes. Staring at you like a curious child staring at an absurdist movie. You don’t make sense to it. You never did.
You throw out money from your window, and stare as strangers rush in with beaming smiles to grab at these paper. You wonder if they are all right. Maybe you should call the asylum. They might need help. They think the same about you. They care. You don’t. You just point and laugh. At those masses of inane individuals who act irrationally. Paper is all they care about. And they call you insane… Well, artists always were. You can make music they cannot hear, you can sing to deaf ears. You do not have to explain. You do not have to follow. Lead, lead to your own wonderland.
The dance is tiring you out. It can be hard. In a world where no one understands you, it can be hard to survive. You need somebody to trust. And yet you are scared. They might think you are insane. If not, they might be as insane as you. You can’t cry. Not after all this. You can’t laugh, your heart is in too much pain. You are torn apart like a bunny caught in the jaws of a crocodile. Each gnashing teeth minces your soul to tiny fragments of the original self. Soon the fragments will vanish into the giant belly, nothing will remain. You’d like that wouldn’t you? You insane bastard.
I like you. I don’t know why, but still. Maybe because I am like you. In a way, not completely. You are after all a part of me. In fact, you are me. The other me. Lost, insane and cruelly true.