“She wish to read the minds of those who smiled wickedly at her, let her be the wolf to devour madness.”

My ears have started cringing with the amount of whining he does, it leads to my depression.

With tears in my eyes, I wished I had not let them misuse generosity.

My breaths give out the stench of dark black pain, that rooted from the poison you gifted me with love.

My soul transforms itself into a mode of good or bad in direct relation with the way you treat and value me.

To them, I have never mattered. They have always given priority to the money they earned, claiming it was to secure me.

I seek out the good but keep my senses on alert but then there are moments when all I want to do is drown in the sea.

I want to scream and cry until my lungs dry out the air that I breathe, maybe my death would be beneficial to them.

Darkness attracts me, it’s the only time, I can cry in peace.

As I pen these words, tears flow from my pained heart onto my trembling lips, and the soul seeks release from daily abuse.

She schools her heart and soul to let go of the pain that she feels or has ever felt or else it will never let her heal and grow.

I am a saviour, I let you see what is to be shown, I don’t let people walk all over me now.

I loved him greatly, only to be hurt and destroyed by the unstable feelings breathing within him.

She is the perfume that scents the environment she blooms in.

I thought he was my peace, but instead I became a piece, that resulted in my peace transforming into my poison.

I am not a duplicate multiple soul, rather a unique rare blooming nurturer, so never compare me with other precious souls.

She was his laughter, that filled the air passages with freedom of living, his creator of smiles.

Envying another man’s happiness is madness; you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you had it.

Only those things are beautiful which are inspired by madness and written by reason.

Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence.

That which you mistake for madness is but an overacuteness of the senses.

I wish I could do whatever I liked behind the curtain of madness.

What people do for the struggle of power is madness.

Madness is never that far away. It’s as close as saying yes to the wrong impulse.

Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.