There are many degrees of madness. Philosophy, Psychology, and Literature are to name but a few.
Now my madness is the only love I let myself embrace.
Love is a serial killer. It kills lover after lover with knives in the heart and guns to the head. Love is a sociopath. It charms you with love- songs and your favorite chocolate but only to get your guard down and attack you. Love is a thief. It steals your ribs made of diamonds and leaves you broke. Love will beat you in the dirty corners of your street on your way home and leaves you with a black eye and a love poem. Love is a stalker. It stalks you in the supermarket or at a party but you rather call that dejavu. Love is bloody. You will wake up from your nightmares in a bath of blood and you will scream for help but it is just too late. Love kidnaps your mind and locks it in a basement where is no light and the dark thoughts will be all you know. It’s called the Stockholm syndrome. Love is a burglar. Breaking inside your body and steals every golden dust you are made of and then bury you in the middle of nowhere.
And love is a psychopath. And we all are victims.