Madness …

almost always comes as a surprise.

We know we are different and unusual; difficult to tolerate even during good days.

We know we have odd tendencies that ostrasize us from the general population.

We do things that are out of character and can be hurtful, even though that is not who we are, to others.

Others we love or care about; or think we do anyway.

I say we because it is more comfortable than saying I.

I take responsibility for my madness even though it often happens without my knowledge.

Some of the world’s greatest artists and thinkers were mad, so I am in good company.

But being in good company doesn’t relinquish nor excuse the madness.

Sometimes it feeds it.

But being so, mad that is, leads to one place … a solitary life.

Who, after all, wants to be associated with madness.

Everything isn’t always as it seems, but judgement is swift.

The world will never understand who we are.

You are.

I am.

Madness.

It is a lonely place to be.

But it is, at the end of the day, a place I recognize.

                       forgotten