Natasha Marie B. Navarro
Like an anxious child, you reveled on bodily fluids
And the more lurid consequences of death;
You mocked friendship and fidelity
And clearly regarded yourself as above all rules.
Also you played the mad game:
At once manic
At another, depressive
Though, never to such bizarre lengths, and suddenly-
Realizing that the game was a highly perilous one
You were slowly slipping into real madness
Since we become what we pretend to be.
The only difference between you and a madman is that you are not mad
Yours is willed paranoia.
But, once and for all, you will be expurgated
From the diaspora that you vehemently embraced,
And which has consumed your entirety
Hoping against hope
That your fleeting lunacy
Will depart from your midst