Whispers curl like smoke, untwisting through the night, Fractured faces flicker — half-seen, out of sight. Tongues in twisted riddles, wrapped in tangled thought, Eyes that bleed with meaning, but speak what can’t be caught. Clock hands drip like wax, slow-melted into sound, Broken chimes echo where sanity’s unwound. Glitches in the lullabies, melodies erased, Beauty slips through fingers, a dream that can’t be chased. I’m mad, But not the kind you say, The kind that hears the silence — Speaking in disarray. Shadowed laughter dances, childlike, dark, and clear, Echoes of the lost ones whisper close, then disappear. Veins pulse in syncopation with a warped refrain, A mind too sharp for comfort, caught between the sane. Words overlap and fracture, like glass beneath the skin, Each breath a secret cipher, each pause a world within. Eyes wide in the darkness — visions split and scar, A genius in the madness, unraveling afar. I’m mad, But not the kind you say, The kind that sees the hidden, And speaks in disarray.
