insanity

My girl was mad and I loved her. Upon a night, she read my poetry; and kissing me madly she cried, __ou are a genius, my love!_ To which I replied, __y girl,_ whispering, __very doctor in this land with a prescription pad is more of a genius than I.

He got a lovely pair of trainers given off his mum for Christmas, best pair he ever had, but it was the nylon laces that he couldn__ take his eyes off. They found him hanging in his cell!

Emotions had welled close to the surface, and she thought her heart had never felt so full as it did standing next to the defiled grave of a whore while lunatics sang the national anthem.

Going mad is the beginning of a process. It is not supposed to be the end result.

Mad people are very emotionally orientated! They have complex feelings, they__e easily upset, but are also easy to please! Most mad people have lonely lives, as nobody understands them. So they become __ost Souls._ They dream a lot. Go within their minds to search - some will turn strange, become dangerous. So a madman is created! His world becomes a mission.

One lunatic in Rampton used to have bouts of hysteria. Where he would let out a scream, and run at a wall and dive headfirst_crash! He was given a crash helmet! (Well it is a mad house.)

She sat in a secluded room, she was mad, but she could not accept it; so she was neither sane nor insane. She could not be either until she knew herself, so in limbo she must die. She kept stuffing toilet roll into her mouth. They found her choked to death!

How stand I, then,That have a father killed, a mother stained,Excitements of my reason and my blood,And let all sleep, while to my shame I seeThe imminent death of twenty thousand menThat for a fantasy and trick of fameGo to their graves like beds, fight for a plotWhereon the numbers cannot try the cause,Which is not tomb enough and continentTo hide the slain? O, from this time forthMy thoughts be bloody or be nothing

Madness is a bowl of poison cherries, chew them and die, but you die screaming in agony.

I personally could never come to terms with my label of __riminally Insane_. Just because of my violent outbursts in prison, don__ mean to say I__ mad. Obviously I had become a disruptive element within the penal system. Uncontrollable! Unpredictable! But that don__ make insanity!

Is Bronson mad! Let me ask you! How else can I be? I__ probably the maddest guy on two legs if the truth was known, but prison will never beat me, I__ sooner die today than allow it too!

Madness is forever! We even smell different, our hearts don__ beat, they tick, our eyes are different, we don__ just see, we also pick up vibes. We are probably dehumanised and way past our __ell by_ date, totally unusable, bitter as lemons.

There is no end. There is no cure. It gets worse with time. Cure. How can you cure an institution, we are bricks crumbling in the walls of despair. Death is inevitable for us all. But the insanity is here to stay.

Unlike most I don__ fear prison, never have, never will. Obviously I don__ want it, I hate it, but it__ the hate that drives me on to survive.

Just take my advice and stay away from those psychiatrists they__e dangerous. And if you__e 13 years old and sitting in front of one do what I never_chin him __os if you don__ you__l live to regret it. You talk to your mum and dad (they know you best) and keep your problems in the family.

Urges like the loony who enjoys strangling, it__ his buzz. He gets depressed when in seclusion, as he can__ strangle anybody so in the end he hangs himself in turmoil. Their brain can__ handle it. He wants so bad to kill, but they will not let him, so he has to kill himself.

In the gray world above, I hear myself howling with laughter. Far below me, in the psychic abyss that is part of the Darkness, I hear another howling, one full of joy and pain, rage and celebration.Not just another witch is coming, my foolish Sisters, but Witch.

Violence leads to madness, it fills you with crazy thoughts. You sleep it, eat it and shit it. You become a time bomb. They push you a bit more _ you blow up. They beat you and you survive. You get strong and you blow again. So how long can a man live this way? I__l tell you_until he dies, if need be. It becomes a way of life, but I don__ remember it, why? Simple_it__ painful; it__ empty and alone. Your cell becomes a hole in the earth, it sucks you in. You drown in your own bitterness, it__ not right to live this way.