It starts with a gasp
And ends with a groan
And then he is left
Fingers at the edge Of the mist that escapes
Flying free of his grasp
Flying light and alone
"Mad," Ugo Betti once said, "is a term we use to describe a man who is obsessed with one idea and nothing else."
Thoughtful words from one who wrote of a thoughtful king. He's right I know this.
Of course he's right.
And his rightness means that I—
I am mad.
Stark, barking mad.
Mad enough to strip myself, just for the sake of it, of the world and its expectations.
Mad enough to revel in the minute-to-minute of my existence. Mad enough to be free.
Mad enough to follow.
Mad enough to follow him.
I'm mad, but I'm not alone.
Because everyone worships something.
Everyone eats, drinks, dies—
And there's only one difference between me
I've already picked my poison.