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The evolution into Madness |
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For the time being, my madness comes in short bursts, rages and ravings. It seems that I still bear a single shred of sanity. Yet I fancy my insanity as a gift and a curse. My mind is clear and free, yet my wits are still somewhat about me. The curse is that I am forever plighted to be a dispenser of harsh truths.If I am bound to rot in a padded cell, at least some with the same state of mind as I will be there to converse with. I even fancy returning there. My current state of living is heavily flawed and my state of mind will be compelled to finally come to the harsh decidion on acting upon my growing distaste for the immoral human race. The feeling of blood between my fingers becomes more and more compelling each day I stay in this world.
Pain can no longer even touch me. I was struck in the knuckles, face, neck and jaw with a baseball bat and did not wince, did not cry out. I felt nothing but a sweet stinging. I am almost certain that my knuckles are broken, for it is difficult to write, but I don't care. I no longer fear pain nor death. Blood is but the flesh's tears of being abyused to the point of breaking. Skin is so much like humans; weak and cowardly, yielding and maudlin.
My face lifted skyward, eyes to the so-called "heavens", all I see are oncoming, pregnant clouds, weary with the burden of bearing the yet another's soon-to-be, utterly inevitable life, and bringing life is condemning their children to the sorrows of this world.
To bring life is to condemn to death and pain. Suckling a child that feeds off of the sinfulness and immorality of the mother. Childbearing, seen as glorious? HA! With pleasure one is conceived, with pain one is born, with agony and remorse one dies. It's a complete cycle, feeding off of your mother's miseries at birth. A parasite.
Yet I am considered mad? I know the truth! I KNOW! Sanity is ignorance, and ignorance is bliss. Earth's emotions are just a cycle of sorts. Sanity is truly sickening. The sane are truly the "unstable" ones. Sanity truly is a disease, condemning one to closemindedness and idiotic innocence. And yet I am seen as ill! In truth, I am feeling much better than before!
Existence is sickening. Ephemeral. The ideals of wanting to clong on to mortality puzzles every thread of my being. Unfathomable, as I see it. The ones considered sane are inhuman and cowardly. Pondering this issue, I come to a dead end nearly every time. Existence is imperfect, flawed. Delusional. Yet I cannot fathom why the sane want to badly to cling to it. Perhaps they fear the so-called pain of death. Maybe they fear being ******** by maggots for the rest of eternity, or at least until their flesh peels and rots away, like what some would say about my withering sanity.
By now, I know that the only shred of sanity that I bear is the truth that I want to conceal my dying wits.
 Jew-bacca · Sat Nov 25, 2006 @ 01:14am · 0 Comments |
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