Insanity Poetry Mga Nobela at Kwento

I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me, the gravity of the situation pulling me into despair. “Silas,” I plead, my voice softening, “this isn’t who you are. You can still turn back. Please, just let us help you.” “Help?” he snarls, shaking his head violently. “You think I need help? I’m the one helping! You’re just too stupid to see it!” The chaos swirls around me, screams and shouts blending into a cacophony of confusion and terror, but all I can focus on is the blood staining the floor, the lives shattered in an instant, and the realization that Silas’s madness may consume us all.

After Dunley had had a few drinks down his gullet, inspiration struck him right away, prompting him to recite a poem loudly on the spot. "From our ranks the storm and cloud unfurled; one step taken into the martial world, and time like wind drives every boy to man. Empire and power? A laugh, a passing plan. For life itself is but a drunken blur, a fleeting dream no heart can hold for sure.

All for nothing. Everyday, for five years, I've been living in repetition. Someone once said insanity means doing the same things over and over again while expecting a different result. I'd like to add that insanity is so much deeper than that. It's also doing the same things over and over again while feeling parts of yourself dying a little more each day.

Henry*** The world shatters around me, a cacophony of destruction that echoes through my bones. Everything I’ve ever known is crumbling, slipping through my fingers like sand, and the storm inside me rages with an intensity I can’t control. I am its eye, the center of this chaos, and yet I am powerless to stop it. The darkness surrounds me, pulls at my insides, and all I can do is endure its cold, suffocating grip. The man I was… I can barely remember him. Only fragments remain, scattered like broken glass, and the creature I’ve become is all that’s left.

It was gloriously, profoundly ridiculous. In my old life, every minute was accounted for. Reading poetry was considered inefficient, a weakness. Now, it’s a revolutionary act. My father’s schedule would have me in a meeting right now, desperately trying to save face. Instead, I’m listening to beautiful words that have nothing to do with contracts or quarterly reports. This is the true reward of ruin. The stillness. The slowness. The right to be inefficient. I closed my eyes, letting the deep timbre of Igor’s voice wash over me. He read about light, about distance, about the small, intense world two people create together against the indifference of the universe.

#MarriedButAlone #IMarriedACheater #PagesI’llDeleteLater “What is this? A pity poem?” I spat with a scowl, “Who the hell wrote this?!”

"Our destiny was chosen by stars, My heart accepted you and raised its bars. I waited so long for you, My Princess, But that Psycho again came back and blocked the ingress He snatched you away from me, leaving me to bleed and scream I panicked and opened my eyes, realizing that was nothing just a bad dream But I can't take any chances, now I can't ignore Enough of this cat and mouse chase, now it's time to declare a war I have lost my patience now; I don't care even if the world witnesses my insanity

At the instant, they knew about the unexpected presence of INSANE. "Oh! Wait. I apologize", Insane said loudly to the officiant. And again started to speak in the same manner Zane was finished speaking his vows. "I, INSANE, in faith, honesty, and love, take you, 'Z', to be my wedded husband, I give you all that I have myself and my love. And I'm apologizing for hurting you. I love you. I love you so much". Insane's voice was shaking with her entire body shivering under Zane's demonic gazes. Her entire self was feeling weak and looked like she would fall on the floor at any moment.

Who took only living insanity away from me. “Rara...” I scraped at the fraying edges of my sanity, searching for even the tiniest fragment to grasp onto. The relentless onslaught of a ravenous scarlet surge threatened to drown me in its merciless grip, mercilessly wearing away my lowering restraint.“Schmetterling, look at me.” Look at me so that I know there’s darkness more darker than inside my heart. Remind me why I hate you. Scrap my wounds and make me bleed till I know nothing but pain.

This condition would last until mid-college days. When headaches visit as frequent as the rain, the mind starts to be pre-occupied with other things. Frustrations about people and circumstance set in. Rather than be defeated by these precepts, I started training myself to be productive in areas where no one, in my limited knowledge of people in our locale, tried to take the time seriously. And to somehow apply whatever thoughts or words I have read in the scarcity of books at home, I began writing non-sense poetry. During those times of inspiration, I always have with me a pencil and a pad of paper. When inspiration strikes, at any given time or circumstance, one needs to get hit.