Madness Poem by Saint Cynosure

Ive become aware that I'm enslaved,
to the despiss of my mind.
I have searched the corners four,
forever there to find.
A comquilent of bitterness,
that I know for to share.
In a tranquil view of happiness,
that mankind doesn't care.
The air I breath is air for me,
and only my space matters.
I'm living proof that all the world,
is fatter in its sadness.
Which by itself,
itself alone,
breeds guilt and hands of hollow.
Madness is both pill and drink,
the hardest thing to swallow.