The House of Insanity is occupied by unwitting participants,
Witnessing the ravages of psychopathology.
The main star, speciously unaware of his non compos mentis,
Foxtrots to his visceral delusions.
There is no mercy for the pensively afflicted
Or the peripheral survivors.
We wait in agony for the next misstep.
Vigilance becomes our second nature.
Loss of control becomes our mantra.
Enduring chaos is our plight.
We walk on eggshells
Waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Under the Scorpio moon,
The howling lunacy holds us hostage
With nonverbal rules and agreements
Unspoken to prevent further upset.
Which one of us is crazier
The identified patient or the captives?
He commands our attention
Dictating the terms of his psychosis.
Unmotivated, unwilling, and uncooperative
Unrealistic, unrepentant, and unmovable
The young patriarch of this house
Dominates us with the fear he will take flight.
His addiction to ignis fatuus
Mires us down in abject misery,
Knowing we are damned if we do or don't.
Will either of these truths will set us free?
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