Without a pip of madness life would not be worth living.

Define madness.

Don't

Don’t lie to a liar
Don’t try to cheat a cheater
Definitely don’t manipulate a manipulator.
And never steal thoughts from a thinker.

The Perfect Silence

As she climbs the waves of her mind,
Full throttle, hands tense at the helm
Concentration unwavering
Hold her steady.
She claws and grasps at the anchors that ground her,
But they are coming unstuck.
She feels the turn slipping
Out of her grip.
The rains sears down on her like sharp, diamond bullets.
She is still in control.

All goes calm.
She is still in control.
She made it
Escaped the storm.
It is the perfect silence.

Her clenched hands slacken their grip,
Breath flees from her cavernous lungs.
And then it hits,
That last unsuspecting wave that isn’t going to let her out.
Her knuckles whiten,
She can’t fight it any longer.
Can’t ride out this storm.
Her mind is a whirlpool.
Of desperation.
Of helplessness.
She gives in,
As the waves of her mind crash down upon her.

She goes under.
Gasping,
Demanding air.
She thinks she is drowning.

The Perfect Storm.

Anger

I’ve been put on the hob to boil and I can feel the temperature inside the pan starting to rise. My body is tense and my fists are shut tight. The energy inside me builds and the atoms I am composed of begin to vibrate. Faster and faster and faster. I am so angry at the world and I am angry with myself. Angry at who I have become and about these tortured thoughts slipping and sliding over the mulch that is my brain. Because that is all we are – mulch in a pan – but heat it enough and you might just detonate it. Give it enough energy, enough fuel, enough petrol and watch it explode. I’ve been put on the hob to boil and you’re still peering into the cauldron.