Novel & Cerita Poetry Teeters On The Edge Of Insanity

Dalloway from the counter, her tone grave with theatrical concern, “your poetry section has been disturbed.” Clara smiled without turning. “Disturbed?” “Disrespected,” Edith corrected solemnly. She gestured toward the shelf as though presenting evidence in court. “Someone has slipped modern free verse between Dickinson and Frost.” Clara descended from the stool and approached with calm efficiency. Mrs. Dalloway stood rigidly, hands planted on her hips, as if guarding civilization itself. “Literary anarchy begins like this,” Edith muttered. “Today free verse. Tomorrow graphic novels in biography.”

The constant judgmental looks from every direction drove me to the point where I had to swallow handfuls of sleeping pills just to fall asleep. Later, when I found out Vanessa was cheating and argued with her, everyone ganged up on me. They all wore the same look, as if they had known it all along. "Looks like he still hasn't gotten over the trauma." "He's gone crazy! He's imagining things now!" "His wife is already kind enough not to despise him. Does he have to drive everyone mad before he's happy?" Vanessa had me forced into a psychiatric hospital. Electric shocks tore through my bones. I screamed every night and even lost control of my bladder.

"You shall burn away all accrued cynicism and earthly dross on your path to absolute immolation this eve..." "Just who the f**CK is this crazy guy?"

I laugh until the air itself trembles, until my lungs ache and my ribs rattle. “Insane?” I kneel again, lowering my face until my grin is the only thing she can see. “No, Skylar. Insanity is believing in limits. Insanity is bowing to gods who don’t care if you bleed. But me?” I tilt my head, whispering the truth in her ear. “I am the cure for insanity.” Her breath hitches, but she doesn't look away. Brave. Broken. Perfect for my stage. I brush a strand of filthy hair from her face, my touch almost tender. Almost.

And, Dio mio, I don’t want her to fall into the same madness I’ve spent years drowning in. The world I live in, the world of the insane, isn’t for her. Not at all. It’s a realm of chaos, of madness and vanity, where sanity is lost in insanity. I’ve clawed my way to the top through the fractured minds and shattered thoughts that surround me. It’s suffocating. It’s a constant struggle because I have to maintain a grip on reality within the abyss of insanity. I don’t want that for her. But here she is, crumbling in front of me, pulling me to her like an invisible thread wrapped around my neck.

I am about to go completely, utterly crazy. The whispers crescendo into a symphony of madness, and I fall to my knees in the shifting mist, my mind fragmenting under the assault of alien voices that promise such sweet oblivion. My hands shake as I clutch at my head, trying to hold the pieces of my consciousness together through sheer force of will. Just when I think I cannot endure another moment of this psychological torture, when the last threads of my sanity are about to snap completely, a figure appears in the swirling chaos around me.

“You are not safe. You see that n‌ow. Thi⁠s world you’re i​n i⁠sn’t a gilded cag​e. It’s a war z‍one. A‍nd yo​u are standing in the midd⁠le of it.” H‌e was recruiting. Right now. Using the shock of the poisoning‌—an act t⁠hat had bl‌indsided him—⁠to‌ pull me to his s⁠ide. To make himself the sane sanctuary agai​ns⁠t​ the very chaos he’d helped create​.

Under the greenhouse's warm, gentle lights, my face, which was swollen from pesticide poisoning, had turned a grotesque shade of bluish purple. My eyes were shut tight, and my lips were black. That was how I had looked when I finally gave up struggling and closed my eyes to meet my end. "What… What is going on here?" Jeremy asked in a shaky voice. "How vile… Ugh… She placed a corpse here to trick us." Andrew's stomach churned violently.

He lingers, frail as parchment, his hands shaking around his staff. “My Radiance,” he breathes. “Forgive an old man’s boldness, but… you are treading the edge of the unmaking.” The laugh that rips from me is not human. It peals like the cracking of suns, bouncing from mirror to mirror until even the air trembles. “The edge?” I say, stepping close, heat blistering his skin. “Old man, I am the unmaking.” He falls to his knees, mouth working soundlessly.

after everything I went through, still just insults I did my study on those creatures for years, and I can still remember some of my favourite poetry and poems I read as a kid A Last Word by Ernest Dowson Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land, Broods like an owl; we cannot understand Laughter or tears, for we have only known Surpassing vanity: vain things alone Have driven our perverse and aimless band. Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold, To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust Find end of labour, where's rest for the old, Freedom to all