The Madman

What is it to dream? To be passionate? Is it an endless pursuit of a standard we cannot reach? When there is a madman inside of you, clawing for purpose or for a torch in the darkness, do you not offer him a match? How cruel is it to watch him scratch at the walls built from limits and shame and never offer a source of fire. To instead walk away in the direction of a secluded alcove that offers nothing but a weak promise of safety. The bats can still get to you. The spiders still make home in your corners. The madman may go insane from his searching, but how different is that from your pondering little alcove. The suffocation does not make an exception for those who are obedient.

Someone once told you that there was no way out. That this cave is all you ever got and it's what is inside that matters. You make yourself a home there because you are told to do so. Yet the madman craves. He yearns for the exit, an end to the constant dull ache that echoes in those chambers. The bats whisper of a world where you can fly, the spiders, one where your abilities make sense. What would you do in your alcove? Chip at the wall, slowly, as anyone else would? What of your heartbeat and breathing, do they mean nothing if your hands are satisfied?

You still hear the madman, no matter how many times you ignore his chants and wails.

The madman knows, what you do not, that there is a weak wall within you somewhere. It's where the bats go to gather food from, and where the spiders follow suit. They do not let themselves starve and wither into nothing. The madman craves for something, some sense of life, some sustenance. He sees it in the coldness of your soul, the flicker of life in your eyes, and he eats as much of it as he can. But he cannot offer you anything in return because the walls are closing in and you are so incredibly far away.

Do not fear becoming the madman. It is the most freeing you can do for your soul. To be mad is to notice the chaos of the world and go with it, rather than fighting tooth and nail for something you will never be able to reach. Why fight against the very nature of the cave when you can slide through the cracks and finally be full. Do not starve just because the cave does not hand you food. If you are going to starve, do it because you're scared, and search for a way out regardless. We are all scared of the madman and his wails and ideas. But we are scared and we live despite. The madman isn't any less scared, he simply wants. Want, my dear, for without wanting, you are simply chipping away at a wall that will take you your whole life to change.

Author's Note:

It is often I find myself worrying about whether or not my writing is worth anything. In turn, because so much of my writing is part of my thoughts and my ideals, it is then I feel I am of no worth as well. But as we know, and as my dear brother reminded me recently, life is just perception. Everyone perceives everything differently, so if this does not move you the way it stole some life from me, I cannot fault you for that. But I wrote this in hopes of reminding you, the reader, that your passion is what is important. Regardless of what your parents, your school, or your anxiety tells you to do, do what you know is right. Do what you are passionate about. Shamelessly be yourself because you never get this chance again. Stand for what you believe is right and you may never be wrong. At least to yourself. Do not let your own life get away from you. Be the madman searching and yearning. Carpe diem.