What Is Anything

True Madness,

In it's most unrelenting form,

Is the consequence lurking behind the best moment of your life.

Madness,

Is loving someone unconditionally, obsessively, without reason or origin,

Only to have them resent you, belittle you and refute and deny your feelings,

So much so that they might force you to come to hate them.

Madness is to become the informed and pursued yet passive observer,

To know well the unrest of others, the inner turmoil they face, the hope you can give,

The support,

And to adamantly refuse, no matter the circumstance.

Madness is to omit the pained loved ones from life,

To ask the wellbeing of the less central and the superficial,

Only to reflect silence upon the sullen ghost of a true comrade.

Madness is refusing the heartfelt and passionate requests of the honest,

The hearts half-submerged in despair, trying desperately to find the leverage in you,

To stand up once more,

To change.

Madness is the inexpicable, or senselessly explained, hypocrisy you remain shrouded in,

The question desired in the morning delivered at the latest possible moment,

The love you claim to profess despite all this hate,

And the reciprocation of that in your perspective,

Madness is the clash of perspective,

Madness is miscommunication,

The good I see in you despite all the evil you now commit,

And the evil you see in me after all the good you commit.

So much so, that I lose myself completely,

That which makes me an identity,

All but name and body,

Faceless,

Forgotten,

Unknown,

Nothing.