Gentle crazy, innocent insanity, pure madness

There’s a gentleness in insanity. In the many moments I spend walking the line between reality and the broken and twisted world of everything that’s not, deep down there’s a part that long for affection and tender fragile things. Next to the tearing, screaming, destructive loudness of lost control it seems so innocent, so pure. It reminds me I’m not fully corrupted yet. I treasure it, protect it. Perhaps at too high a price. Fear of commitment is one way to label it. It’s not the settling down we’re afraid of, it’s having what we want so much only to have it taken away. We don’t want it to leave us, so we leave instead. Just so we are to blame. Everything is our fault anyway. That’s how the thought process works. Like the butterfly effect, the simple flutter of their wings sets off a chain reaction that changes everything, one trigger or impulse is all it takes to form a spiral of negativity. It’s so easy to get swept away. Even the strongest soldier can’t fight forever and they certainly can’t fight alone. But how can you trust someone when you can’t even trust yourself? When keeping in the worst of you is enough to exhaust you beyond caffeine’s reach? When you’ve lost your faith in kindness and the gentle touch you crave at  the hands of your own destructive actions?

If you ask me, insanity is the broken process of trying to heal oneself and only adding to the madness.

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