Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You're watching, judging, and assuming
You don't understand why I do what I do. 
Why I obsess over little things.
So stop trying to
The world is my oyster
But without the beautiful pearl
Just a plain old shell, in a plain old world

It's a shame you'll never know the brilliance
All you're capable to understand is the madness.
Insane, sane
Heart, or brain
Ferocious , tame
Take two breaths and stop breathing all together.
Turn your self to useless energy, forever.

Welcome to mind of the mad.
The queen of the asylum
A dapper old castle in the brain of a girl.
Who is tortured yet pampered in her own little world.
Sjr1000 Dec 2013
Creativity
&
Madness
I've walked the razor's edge.
Playing it straight
In public places
No one knew
The thoughts and voices
Running around my head.
Fortune dictated
I never made it
To the walking dead.

Secret sharers
Come to me
At the beginning
And at the end
Of their plunge
Into that madness
Falling off the ledge.

No sleep came to them
Electronic insomnia
Ran them.
Cars became creatures
Screaming at them
As real as the table
Between us.

Imagination run wild
A chariot
The horses sweating
And running full speed
The reins either
Flapping untamed
Or
Imagination chained
Directed into these lines.

Creativity
&
Madness
At the razor's edge.

Disorganization
Voices screaming
When the wind is silent.
Miming up against the walls
No one can see them at all.
And in space as they said
"No one can hear you scream"
And space surrounds me.

Creativity
&
Madness

Pros & cons
Cost benefit ratios

*** makes it worse
The roots ungrounded

Crystal gears it up

Alcohol numbs the
Mind with depression's
Blanket of dread.

While ****** leaves
You strung out and lead.

The drugs they give you
Leaves you walking dead
But calm and able
To
Play it straight in public places
Far from the
Razor's edge
Of creativity & madness.

What's a poor boy to do?
Wind up sleeping in the park?
Cold wet encampment bound
Lost in the landscape
Of madness
Sights
Shadows,
A mind full
Of old echoes
Blinding.

How do we walk
This line?
A few fall over
A few are left behind.
Some never know what they could find
And some find that it all resides
At the intersection
At the razor's edge...
Irony  Aug 2015
Maddness?
Irony Aug 2015
Madness? he laughed
a sip of tea
madness is not a thing,
nor a he, nor a she
if i could show you would you see.
if you could just let me be.

madness? he laughed
a sip of tea
yes madness is a thing,
that me nor you can see.
it is she
it is he
it loves me
don't you see?

with all my hairs,
and all my wits
i am proun to madness
in its bitts

i take a chunk and sip the tea
yes madness is he nor she.
if i could show you would you see?

that madness is he nor she
that madness is me
in all my entirety

so you ask,
madness? he laughed.
a sip of tea

yes madness is mad
and i am half
ready and willing
to sip off the tea

if only you could see
that he is me
and me is he
you would know

you would see
that madness is *key
Ujwala Iyengar  Mar 2015
Madness
Ujwala Iyengar Mar 2015
Madness reigns over those who spend insomniac nights weaving magic out of thin air,
Madness crawls over their skin who shed all they have for the dreams they believe in,
Madness haunts those who can't stop thinking of all the things they could be,
But isn't it pure madness that makes you different  than them.
For madness is their drug.
Madness is what makes creativity,

She rubbed her eyes and told herself
'I can't sleep at night'
She never will.
For madness kills like madness lives.
She held his hands for the last time and asked
'Tell me I'm right !'
Linds May 2013
i propose a toast to the white rabbit
the one running around in the back of our minds
(with his ticking clock and screaming voice)
leading us towards madness
so name me alice because i choose to follow
falling further down the rabbit-hole
into a world that does not belong to me
but is a hell of a lot better than the one i am in
so let us raise our glasses to the madness
(and dance to the rabbit's ticking song)
before we all run out of time

the clock runs close to twelve
keep your shoes on your feet
(cinderalla, you are too naive
eating the poison apple without question)
do you want to stop your clock?
to have a choice to chase the rabbit away
and silence his screaming worries?
then wish upon a star and close your eyes tight
because you will never get rid of him
(late, late!)
we are running out of time, he says
run yourself into the ground, he says
(you never did like to listen, did you?)

("rapunzel, rapunzel, let down your hair
so i may climb the golden stair")
let me up into the tower you are closed in
allow me to enter upon your presence
and let me bring the rabbit with me
together we may follow him into the forest
with our easily-deceived minds and red cloaks
so we may go together into the madness
we will play his game and dance in circles
(but you do not really play anyone's game, do you?)

the clock's hands are moving rapidly now
we are running out of time, he warns
wake from your long sleep, useless beauty
and shake the transformation spell
from your cursed lover's heart
so that we may dance into the madness together
and that ****** white rabbit will have his way
perhaps then his voice shall finally be silenced
(and at peace we will be for once)
as he will no longer run around in our heads
for he will have already done his job

let us toast to this ****** white rabbit
thank him for releasing us from reality
and allowing us to fall into his madness
because it is better than the world
that everyone else seems to live in
and this toast will be our appreciation
for him leading us into something more
than just a terribly gloomy world
that is painted in only black and white
but the world which we are now in
is of all the colors imaginable
even those that do not exist
(but if they are present then
i do suppose that they exist?)
anyway, thank you, white rabbit
for letting me run myself into the ground
and find a madness that has change me
for the better
(i hope)

(but maybe you do not want to lift your glass)
in that case, rub your hand against a lamp
and hope for your three wishes
then maybe you will become a prince
(or a princess, but who really cares about gender?)
but then, you cannot rub that lamp
because you will ***** those sinless silver hands
(throw your prince against the wall,
because you will never accomplish anything)
your sloth-like heart will make you lose everything

now you are lost in your own mind,
did you forget your trail of bread crumbs?
do not fret over that lost trail
the white rabbit will fly you to an ageless land
(unless you have lost belief in magic
then you can live your life in a glass coffin)
dance, dance for the white rabbit
and say more nonsensical things with me
for there is no way out of this
so free yourself from all your worries
(hakuna-freaking-matata, right?)

red and white child of the Juniper tree
those golden apples are just out of your reach
so place a pea under your bed to prove you are alice
and either way i will blow that straw house down
(wear your heart in your head and your brain in your chest
but your courage will be lost in the lion's touch)
this white rabbit is not giving up
so dance again to his annoying ticking song
because you are half-way gone in madness
you climb up an invisible beanstalk
in search of that golden goose
filthy thief, search for the ax
to chop down your fears

i fear we are coming near to the end
and my name may not be alice
so before i go, i beg
please allow me to introduce myself
i sometimes go by the name
of Sir Nivens McTwisp
Coop Lee Jun 2014
to the young privateer.
the captain kidd & his bought n’ taut gang of holy bluffs.
they bribe and imbibe and swoon on the dock-way looking for a quest or two or three
to dream and bury their doubloons in island guts like little mysteries. little sundowns
over a rixdollar indian ocean.
let them take a turn.
destined to mutate from private to pirate, the kidd, like blackened rotten wood.
******* frigates.

the ship:
with her bob and sway. she is, the adventure.
& her song is calling out for a rapturous few,
for men ready to die on the highwater mark by glory or fire or dead glorious sun.
so they put her brass and bough to seafaring days,
the sweet galleon, barely wet, yet
completely riffed to voyage.
she is
from the shores of london. built. designed to kick 14 knots under a full sail blast.
& she will bite.

she’s in calm waters.
the kidd savvy toothed and butterscotched, he awaits the big show,
engorged to set forth the play like wily ocean dervish &
they do.
they do proceed with benefactors coined and crunched on postulations of pirate death &
pirate gold. reclaimed honor as they say. the hunt for pirate teeth.

& with official pass and parchment, high-throne approved,
king ***** III stamp & sealed,
this voyage is.
this voyage is and forever was, hereby charted, to recover said stolen goods.
to reclaim thy warrior vanity &/or vengeance.
to noble this **** with pinched loaf, like now.
set sail. now.
1696.

“**** them navy yachts at greenwich, the thames be ours, boys.”
slap *** and flick thumb toward those armada sons,
& as tribute
smoke balsam herbs on the starboard side for the mother she and the father be.
but for this slight,
this dishonorable silly ****,
one third of adventure’s men are pressed into service of the crown.

[continue.]

the adventuresome few, petty crew and crows.
steal the heart and mother-meat of a french ship. steal everything onboard.
steal the ship itself.
& on her way to new york, new boon, pure and entered into the new world.  
there are new men bought in the american port,
good men and odd men of long criminal legacy.
a small black vicious quartermaster. he’ll do.
a murderous preacher gripped by stars and celestial patterns. he speaks spanish. he’ll do.
another type of holy man and a wild drinker too, embattled by demons on the port side. sure.
plus the dock-boys destined to **** for fruits of exploration.
this is the way of the son of a gun.

the boatmen jockeyed. she is
the adventure
prancing the vertebrae of atlantic and beyond. cape of good hope, she
breathes easy out here on the wide tide and float.
out here on the vast blue this. she
evolves
out here. loves out here.

pirates.
the hunt for pirates or the lack thereof. she leaks.
she rasps into the years on. and on.
the kaleidoscope hallucinations of sun and moon, sun and moon, and moon and sun
forever.
the strait of bab-el-mandeb.
& there
she plunges into darkness, into the stars seen from and through a periscope formed
by ancient hominid lineage.
seen but untouched,
in dreams. the kidd, reluctantly lime, admits to his madness.
madagascar.

malaria and cholera and hell break the boat by the throat.
& thrash.
to be organic is to be ruled by a shadow, or entropy.
the mouth of a red sea.
one third of the men will die here.
simply as insects crushed and brushed off deck and into to her great spate of agua,
the mother gush.
her earth.
body.
father,
hear his whispers in the mirage.
the ancient mariner, the ancient holy ghost riming down there.

in destitution.
in a rough and soggy life squeezed and making men weird or violent or both be ******.
the kidd goes cold to hot sweating noxious.
turns pirate himself
out of sheer hunger.
out of sheer need to eat.
sets the boys like dogs upon a frigate of east india company men,
or french *****. either/or/or/either/or.
he & the boys are in a madness swirl of sun and heavy guts.
cuts to spill blood
or gold. this tender bit.
lip bit
& tested.

captain kidd fractures the skull of a deckhand named moore,
for bad attitude and giggles. moore gets death.
chisel on the deck.
& to think we are all troubled by some primal trauma.
some dumb thing called death, that is.
men starving, men dying, men falling in the vast black that is that eternal void.
dream of women and riches in the meantime.
fortunes.
1698.

savage kidd, cool kidd, cool spit
off the edge. to think of the once soulful idea of these paradise days
& trip.
savage to cool.
the two divine modes of a survived man.
a ghoul man, or aging man.
& to keep control of his crew kidd sets them upon the quedagh merchant;
a 400 ton armenian hulk chalk full of gold, silver, satins, and muslin. ‘tis *****.
renames her: the adventure prize.

madness quenched for now.
charmed for now
& on the horizon are fragrant times. blissful distance.
but robert culliford,
with his mocha frigate. this man, this suave pirate lord, his vengeance act.
he had stolen kidd’s ship years back, &
the captain opts to cut his throat.
take the mocha.
keep calm & carry on.
to paradise.
to dream of her cool warm beaches and fruit forever, peacefully thinking.
so that night they two drink together in good health, and in the morning
most of the men defect to this other man, this other ship, culliford.
other dream,
other captain of true buccaneer effect.
act 3:

13 remain in the galley firm.
this is the house adventure.
& she is burnt alive three days later for rot and ill repair.
but she was fun,
& a *****.
a stitch of old woodwork given-in
& crackling with the eyes of her crew seen in fire.

kidd steps the pond to caribbean times with the adventure prize, toad toxins
& high on the jungled shore.
he trades that colossus, flips her for a sloop and seven little chests of gold.
little bellies.
the island-gut doubloons to bury.
dream, remember?

but the men-of-war are after him now. the privateers & hunters & devil’s dogs.
the men he once was.
men of marked death.
& he is now some pirate, some forthright bandit
settled to **** or be killed.
some sad kid.

first: buries that treasure up the coast of america.
oak island rig.
cherry rocks of the maine bank and *****-trapped pit.
the hunted.
they catch him on an inlet ****, and sail back
to london to be tried for crimes against the crown.
the high court of admirality.
1701.

they hoist and gibbet his body with worn chains above the river.
not for piracy, but for ******.
the ****** of that strange deckhand moore and his giggle.
kidd’s bones
suspended there for three or more years at the mouth of the thames,
as warning
to the perverse travails of a criminal lifestyle on the highwater pond.
mark john junor Mar 2015
flawed to near insanity
but long as you could hold down a job then its alright
isn't that a wise policy she asked
i'm not so sure
watching the clowns strut their stuff
in the midnight sun
they are reckless to be certain but self aware to a fault
just makes it all the more bizarre
watch em go at it with each other over the simplest thing
its no way to live
you can vouch for the living as long as you haven't died
and this madness is just shy of being in a pine box
so darling lets get outa this crazy place
get away from the thinking
that you gotta be like everybody else
get away from the plastic hippie rat-race
roll down the easy highway
find us some sweet sunshine to breath in
find us a better life to be

— The End —