If talking to yourself is the first mark of madness,

What’s the second step in this descent towards sadness?

Is it answering back, in a dialogue endless?

Caught in continuous cognitive cycles, often horrendous,

Praying for another breakthrough so tremendous.

To answer myself seems like my life’s purpose.

Isn’t it everyone’s, beneath the surface?

They taught that if at first we don’t succeed, we must try and try again,

While we later learned the meaning of insanity is to do that very same thing.

Stuck in the constant chase of the rat race, with no escape near.

Yet it’s strange, do we fear the same change we hold dear?

Willing life to someday rearrange, year after year,

With refusal to remodel or switch routine for ritual.

Caught between the collective and the individual.

We are sufferers of the subliminal.

We are the blind leading the blind.

Three mice named Fight, Flight and Freeze;

Armed with anxiety, prayers and tweets.

Victims of victims, fighting the unforgiving pressure of human nature;

Too busy to reflect and too quick to forget.

With a fear of regret, yet proceed to neglect our essence, without giving a second thought to, our need to be free or to simply…

_ …Just be…. _

… Sorry. I tend to go off on a tangent when I talk to myself. _They say that’s the first mark of madness._