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

Within the Darkness

Through the dark and curly black,

He eased himself through the hair

That strew itself over skin so tender

A slight tickle, warmth I felt

As he waded through the moisture; searching

For that hole through which he shall pierce

The hole that shall sustain him and his kind

All of a sudden, he stood still

My heart skipped a beat; this was it

A second later he was in my hand

I did not let him pierce - relief

Instead, I felt him in my hand

Throbbing with life

Another second and there he lay dead

Bleeding my own blood; helpless

On the white speckled with black

Amongst the rest of the dead lice.