Freedom in Madness

“I have found both freedom and safety in my madness; the freedom of loneliness and the safety from being understood, for those who understand us enslave something in us.”
― Kahlil Gibran, The Madman

Some days the crawl space between
the good that whispers kindness, and
the malice that screams mindless
vengeance, is suffocatingly narrow.
Mindless, because it is easy, the calculations come
so naturally. Too naturally.
I am fast to snap, and shoot the flare gun up
to the heavens as an invitation for
outcast legions to march over the hills.
Come and get me.
You will win, but I will be blood soaked before
it can keep me. Madness, before you can keep me.
I feel like I am hanging off the edge of a cliff,
the tips of my fingers barely clinging on.. and growing numb and tired;
on to what is real and what is surreal. What is a hulucination
and what is an actual twisted face offering monotone instruction
on the death and disposal and
on waste removal.
I watch horror movies, unmoved. I watch violence and rewind
to find
that moment,
that made my heart beat a little faster.
Am I breathing? Why am I not feeling?
It is intoxicating to know that you are intimating.
It is sad that I would choose that because it has meaning.
It means, I am free, to dance in my own dark corner,
alone. No one to lead me. No one to need me.
No one to entertain, or smile at.
Maybe I am dead, and just don’t know it.
Maybe I feel everything and don’t want to show it.
Let’s flip a coin.
Tails, I fight.
Heads, I let go.