"Are you mad?"
People ask me this question so many times I don't know any more.
Am I mad
I don't know.
You tell me.
Every time they put me in the asylum,
I pay close attention to everything.
The route,
How tight the security is,
If there are any cameras,
EVERYTHING.
I have a very vivid and reliable memory
I pay close attention.
I stay for a bit,
adding new bits of information.
Then eventually,
I escape.
I have a strange hobby.
I have the need to stab something,
At least once a day.
Doesn't matter what,
Doesn't matter how,
I just do.
Something about screams and blood excite me.
It doesn't actually have to be stabbing,
Just as long as the screams and blood is there.
If I don't my hands twitch,
Then my head,
And when I'm unconscious,
For example when I'm sleeping,
It just happens.
So am I mad?
I don't know any more.
YOU TELL ME.
YOU ARE READING
My Lonely Pathos
PoetryA series of poems, songs and whatever else is screaming in my mind. Pathos isn't something that comes to me, but when it does, it's written down and shared for those to see.
