A perfect madness

I don’t lose.

And yet I have lost control over everything,

even the places inside my head


I swear it wasn’t my choice.

I used to be so kind.


I’ve become as common as dirt.

And I can’t help to feel as though I’m playing at real life instead of living it.


My heart twitches.

It aches.

It throbs.


With eyes as unforgiving as Sahara desert heat,

I see them.

Their hands tied like a sailor’s knot.


They’re what I lost.

They’re everything I ever wanted to be,

to have


I battle with what I know and what I feel on a daily.


But I know you.

I know you.

I know you like a prisoner comes to know his cell.


And while there’s nothing so painful, so corrosive, as suspicion,

I am a perfect, perfect madness.


I am unusual, tragic.

I am an empty ghost,

with a ticking time bomb for a heart,

just waiting to go off.  

This poem is about: 
My family
Our world
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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