Panphobia

What happens when one believes himself insane, but nobody believes him.

It may be crazy of me to, um, think myself crazy,

But that is the curse I've decided for myself.

 

My friends,

They tell me that my diagnosis is as false as the day is light

Because one must be sane in order to pronounce another insane. However,

I challenge their response. I am not pronouncing another as psychotic, I say,

But instead I am pronouncing myself because there are things that I know,

Things that simultaneously trouble and comfort me, worrying me as if I were a compass

With no points, a violin with no strings;

This is a catastrophe.

 

Love,

I am without it, but I do not mind.

That is sure proof of my non-existent sanity and I beg of you,

Please recognize my struggle.

Dreams,

My lids haven’t been heavy in over a decade, and I do not wish them to be.

This, I am stressing to you, is all the proof that is needed.

I am crazy. I know this.

 

A curse,

My condition may be a curse,

But it is a curse that you allowed to flourish. I begged you.

I warned you.

Now, whatever happens next,

Is all your fault.

 

Her blood

Is on your hands.

Author's Note

In this poem, a man who believes himself crazy is talking to an old friend of his about the result of everyone not believing that he was crazy.