Should I Fight This Madness?

I suppose, there is comfort in madness.
Like the hope in prayer.
Minds giving in to the frailness,
Bodies tensing, throats out of wear.
Should I fight this madness?

The feeling, a swimming pool.
Takes form in lingering shallows,
Accompanied by deep engulfing trenches.
You can drown in either.
Sink or swim. Do I have a choice?

“For things to get better,
They must get worse,” They said.
“To find me,
I must lose myself,” They said.
Now I wait without guarantee.

I call it madness because,
Madness has no meaning.
I call it madness because,
For this, there is no perceiving.
Should I fight this madness?

Is it really a loss?
If I don’t know what I’m missing?
Does time even exist?
So I know what I’m wasting.
I cannot go on like this.

I can get down on my knees,
Begging, make it stop.
Make it stop.
Please, make it stop.
But what is the point?

The chambers of my heart,
Racing each other to beat faster.
My lungs always seem to be
Falling short of air.
My mind does not care.

I can no longer trust my legs,
To help me stand tall.
My vision adjusting haphazardly,
Forcing me to take the fall.
Should I try and fight this madness?

Fighting against my madness,
Makes the great Everest look feeble.
Giving in to my madness,
Is like fueling the pits of Tartarus.
It seems I cannot win.

Fighting with my madness?
No, I realised I am not fighting.
I am the madness. I am consumed.
Concerns of war and peace, don’t concern me.
This is my fate, for I am doomed.

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