Straightjacket

I condemn my mind to madness.

To the distortion of right and wrong, where I have roamed for years, lost. I invert the poles, I think in ways no longer able to tell metaphor from memory, fiction from fact. I teeter on the edge of the endless abyss, battered by the brutal negligence of the truths striking my face.

Where will this end?

I grant you, mind, the right to abandon all struggle — no more bleeding over what you were never meant to understand. Float aimlessly on the winds that drag you toward a nameless end, a void without routes, without stops, without refuge.

Turn every scream into hollow smiles, invisible to those who look but do not see — yet understood perfectly by you, mind. We drift together into the uncertain, the broken, the unspeakable.

Mind that drags this decaying body through the days, disfigured by time — collapse.

Abandon this pitiful reality.

Let us lose ourselves in the forests we invented, forests without thorns, without pits, without scent, without light. A world only ours — barren, silent, and gloriously incomplete.

I have driven my mind into madness — a final anesthesia against the unbearable clarity that no way out remains.

I see myself mad. And if madness is the price for peace, then I embrace it.