Where Are The Normal People? Poem by William Jackson

Madness descends like a warm rain,
A smothering gray thermal fog
Enveloping everything,

And sadly, I cannot escape the insanity any longer.
Having tried my best to ignore it, to wall it off,
To insulate myself and pretend it does not exist,
To think it only happens to other people but not me,
It has come like an uninvited guest.

What possesses a man, disgruntled or not,
To take the lives of Amish children or any children?
For God’s sake, how does this sort of thing happen?
My mind misfires at the illogic of this,
And I almost fall to the floor.

I feel as though I am standing on the edge of a sinkhole,
A sinkhole that just keeps getting bigger and bigger,
Swallowing everything.

There’s too much grey;
I’m not having fun anymore.
Where are the normal people?