All philosophers true to the study will go mad some day.
But then again, it is Normal that defines Mad.

Cry of the Estranged

I feel surrounded-surrounded
By Satan himself; I see him
An embodiment of cruelty, I see him
The glee in his eyes tainted by pleasure
As they watch me writhe in pain
His fires rage on my every side and feed on me
Like parasites sucking out my humaneness

Desperate like the Boy
Who cried Wolf a time too many
I cry out to my nearest ear,
To be answered
By my Echo, fading away

The want to be lulled to tranquillity
Overwhelms my eroding mind
Eroded by the flow of Misery-
A poisoned river of thoughts

My strings of Sanity gave away
I neither fall nor float but rise
Not to stare into empty darkness
But there I was-blinded
By light; by realization

Satan’s fires are burning with my own
The anger and the agony mix
And rage to burn all reason.
I see everything through a madman’s eyes

I mull over my seeming insignificance
In life and Life, both vague
A tear mattered no more
As did anything, in alienation

An effort I did make,
Trying to keep up the pretence in vain
That I was indifferent, oblivious even
To every occurrence that affected
My frail Self- an outright denial

As the fires burned down, I still remained
A formless cluster of lifeless thoughts;
An unquenchable thirst for understanding;
An insatiable desire to be wanted

I live thereon off what Satan’s fury left behind
Morbid thoughts and hopelessness
A strange bliss it may seem, it was all I had;
My own fury left nothing to salvage

Author's note: I do not call this a poem a work of art or a piece of literature. It's just a collection of thoughts written in a frenzy.