The Art of Madness
I clung to my tragedies,
like drowning person clings to air,
Madness is my art,
I write best in my gloom,
Share my darkest fears in the brightest rooms,
To crowds that don't feel my despair,
Don't see truth in my tales,
Tragedies cling to me like perfumes in air.
Your scars might be visible,
Mines are not,
They live on my skin,
And inhabit my thoughts.
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