Insanity

They say all the great ones had inside them the seeds of insanity. For years it may lay dormant, but one day, a sight or a sound would bring it into being. The seeds would hatch and wind their roots throughout the mind. But these were not joyous hatchings. For insanity is a cruel plant, burning without thought to consequence where ever a tendril of its body should tread. And as it digs itself deeper into the cavities of our thoughts, all things are seen sharper, all things are heard clearer and for a while the world is like nothing you could ever imagine. But euphoria is quickly eclipsed by fear, for the world begins to encroach on the boundaries, and as it presses against the flimsy walls, weakened further by insanity’s poison, they will crack, and fall. The gushing flow halts for no man, and screams will take the place of silence as a storm worthy of a century of news will rage. And there, in the eye of the storm, where calm would exist so fleetingly in the midst of chaos, the insane will do their work. They will continue until their eyes water, until their hands blister and bleed, and until the eye is lost again.