Why I Write

Though I come, walking,
Slowly to you,
I want to run.
You are Poison in the eyes
Of the Others,
But damn them all.
They have never thought on their own.
They are still children clinging
To mother’s legs,
Eyes reflecting only the world
Their physical form is tied to.
Only reflecting what they
Have been taught.
But I,
I see past the blinds
Put on our eyes.
I have torn away the ribbons
They bound me with.
I am free.
Is insanity bad,
If you see
What you want to see?
So I go to you,
Because you are my True eyes. You show me what I want to see.
You are my Insanity.
My savior from this world of chains and futile laws.
Of men who think they fight for Light, when
They only serve Darkness,
Wearing a thin cloak of Light.
They are only kindle for the fire of War,
Slaves to Death, because they care only for Reality.
Bloody, blasted Reality, nothing but a cold lie.
I don’t want drugs—
Nothing more than a temporary, thin relief
From Reality.
I only want you,
Insanity.
But alas, I must walk to reach you,
For a Freedom great as yours does not give itself easily.
My limbs earn to move more quickly,
Even if running along Folly’s path
Leaves my feet as nothing more than bloody stumps,
I will find a way to reach you,
Insanity, my escape,
I shall shake off the chains Reality put on me, and escape.
Escape.
Escape.