Why do you fear me and not your own madness? Why are you haunted by the shadows I cast when your very own darkness hover within you? Not every outcast are taken over by blackness. Some try very hard to find the faintest flicker of light; Some choose to build dreams upon dreams out of broken pieces, like a stepping stone that would eventually take them across the filthy, infested swamp of depression. We ran like the wind to escape, to cope, or at least to find that part of us untouched by the cruelties of circumstances. Most of us do not run after the world, but rather, we ran away from it. The world is dangerous, and we are already severely wounded. We hide to nurse fresh wounds, and we reach out with scarred hands, still hoping to make that essential communion that makes life worth living. Not all deviants are bad, and not all those who profess normalcy are sane. 
Don’t search the darkness for ghosts. Don’t search my eyes in the hope to see emptiness. Look within your heart. It’s where you’ll find a void not even my madness can compete with. Don’t search the asylum of the insane for coldness. The space that once housed your soul burns colder than ice. I am mad but not cruel. You are supposed to be sane and yet with your every step you harbor a grudge that boils down to hate and paranoia. How tragic it is for such a healthy mind to get crippled by blows no one had cast but his very own hands. 
I find it amusing that people try so hard to find something to fear on every ounce of vagueness conjured, when the worst predator this world had ever created are the so called “normal race”; the cold and calculating face hidden within every sweet smile; the tortured, vengeful heart that knows no end. The most lethal poisons are those served by trusted hands.


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