She was
Utterly normal.
Utterly mad...
That was her
Appeal.
People would
Openly
Stare at her
As if
She couldn't
See their gaping
Maws…
She did
Of course,
But she
Didn't care
If they
Threw daggers
With those
Stares,
Or undressed her.
Either
Was inconsequential
To her.
That all women
Could be so
Indifferent,
But it came
With a price.
Madness.
The vortex
That cocooned
Her mind
In velvety
Self-indulgent
Fantasy
Kept her
Oblivious
To all but
What she
Projected.
Today
She was
Projecting
The bitterness
Of victimhood.
Yesterday
She projected
The jubilant
Glee
Of hedonism,
Reveled in it,
Paid for it,
With her
Today.
Tired
Of feeling
The numbness
Of nothing,
She had thrown
Away the pills
Of unfulfilled
Promises
Of “Normal.”
She embraced
That her feelings
Were hers
Good or bad
Right or wrong.
Life felt better
“On”
Than
“Off.”
But was she
Really
Mad!?!?
To accept the
Responsibility
Of her madness,
And embrace
The vortex,
In place of
The void?
