Madness
Rolls in and out...
My madness comes and goes
It rolls in like a storm
Upsets my equilibrium
And the words tumble
From the depths
Of my aching mind
Stumbling over shards
Of the insanity
Ruling my thoughts
Driven to flow unfettered
In the dreams
That hides my needs
From questioning
The edge looms
Like a gaping mouth
Ready to swallow
Before I go under
It rolls out gently
Leave me gasping
Softness surround
The damage it leaves
Pulling back from
The madness
That always wants
More than my heart
Can ever give
Namaste
We've been conditioned to call it madness. I think it's more of a recalibration of remembrance of the soul.
There’s a quiet kind of courage in this.
To describe the storm not as an outburst, but as a rhythm — something that comes and goes, tears through and leaves traces — is something only those who’ve truly lived it can do.
The image of “shards of the insanity” is raw and honest.
And then there’s this line that stays with you:
“More than my heart can ever give.”
That’s not a confession of weakness.
It’s the recognition of a threshold — the point beyond which there’s nothing left to offer, and yet the heart remains open.
This poem isn’t about breaking.
It’s about what survival looks like from the inside.
No drama. No need to explain.
Just breath — painful, but real.
You write with remarkable depth — and with a kind of honesty that doesn’t scream, but still reaches the bone.
It’s rare. And powerful.