To go insane is kind of scary,
To believe that you’ve been there makes you wary,
For escaping can be pretty hairy,

Give me the right moment though,
And being insane can release the flow,
It’s still a fine edge, off which you can blow,

This is me,
Embroidered in Insanity,

It makes life a ride,
For only in myself can I truly confide,
All my thoughts that if they were free from where they reside,
Would get me locked up inside,

That’s if I’m not already there,
Locked in my own mental despair,
Or am I already trapped in the lair,
Of a world with no care,

Sensitive to my own energy,
To the mess of a world entrapping me,
Making me feel insane,
When in fact,
Itself is to blame,

Not wanting to work fifty year,
Just to say, “Oh, I had a career”,
Feeling a connection to life,
Rather than wanting two kids and a wife,
A mortgage and years of debt,
To force me to work until near death,

Become ill, get mental trouble,
Just to keep on living, this insane bubble.


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