I wish I can sleep the madness away, it's irritating, the thought keeps getting bigger and bigger and my breathing gets heavier, my wrath is not that of a God's, mine is of a less mightier feet, my madness is human, yet with no bounds, the more I think about it the more I'm mad and the harder I tried to stop thinking the harder it is for me to stop, I wish I can sleep the madness away because I don't like who I am when I'm mad, I don't like the dark hallways which I walk alone, not because I'm afraid of walking them alone but because I'm afraid I wouldn't wanna get out of them, my heart decays into its former glory as dirt and my bones to ashes, what once was and will be, what I am, nothing, that's one of the thoughts I have when I'm mad, that's what is making me even more angry, the black single hole in the center of the wall which shouldn't be there, the slightly tilted painting in a silent museum, the nightmare before you even Close your eyes, the irrational train of thoughts you have never stopping where it needs to be, why do I think of these things why am I still mad why is it still bothering me why did I do so little Why am I so mad why can't I sleep the madness away, why is it easier for me to write my sorrows in a bottle and throw them to the ocean, see them sink and then resurface again, swimming unto what I can never reach, my what a wonderful sad view, I wish I can sleep the madness away, because life  is life for the good and bad yet I can't handle the bad, just as an asthma patient can't handle smoke, a kid can't handle a bottle of Jen, and a sky can't handle the skies, so I wish I can sleep the madness away, but I know I'd only delay it away

Blue skies, yellow sun and a faint brush splatter of clouds around the canvas, a bit of green and more blue for the rivers and fields going and twirling around, and a few grape trees climbing a red-brick broken down house, sometimes that's response to what's the most beautiful thing I've seen, but take a new white canvas and hang it up high, throw some orange around a bit of green, let the brown slide down to a soil of green and brown then put me under that tree, let me look at the grey clouds all around the sky hiding all the colors, maybe this is the most Beautiful, although, if we take a new canvas and wait for a bit to take the white in, then hold a bucket of purple and throw it full, maybe that's what is most beautiful, I don't know, my opinion about what's most beautiful always changed, maybe because the blue and yellow don't mix well, maybe because the grey adds some shade to the orange, maybe because purple is my favorite color, or it's probably because I haven't seen the most beautiful thing enough, but I do try to look at you as much as I can.

A tap of his fingers, a blink of his eye, a slight move with his legs that can take away my soul and let me to die, a beautiful scenery I'm blessed with, yes it is I in the mirror.