“insanity” and “metaphor”

Just a whisper of the chaos behind the calm.

When pain becomes art

My Innocence — Madness Version

My innocence fades away,

like a tiny piece of ice,

like a tiny piece of ice.

My warmth and tenderness are leaving,

they go, they go, they go, they go… They went.

There’s no one left to save me now —

only the fading remains in the deepest of my soul.

Descending from your pedestal,

descending,

descending,

descending.

Your warmth burns, burns, burns,

then fades, fades, fades.

I am only a block of ice

that with the sun melts and disappears —

my reflection vanishes with the wind.

Falling,

I searched for a soft place to land,

but I found none.

Like ice blocks melting away,

slowly, slowly fades my hope.

The silence — your silence —

fades into the whisper

of the night’s stillness.

When you come is when  I go,

when you come is when I go.

Suddenly the mask comes down,

and between sanity and insanity,

I find my metaphor —

where love tastes like madness,

and madness feels like home.

Feeling ethereal, and finally free.

I disappear,

I no longer see myself.

I disappear,

I no longer see myself.

My warmth grows cold

with your ice,

with your ice,

with your ice,

with your ice,

with your ice…………I.c…..e……

……

. 💔✨

When love hurts that deeply, it doesn’t stay in one emotion — it becomes everything at once.

Grief, longing, confusion, nostalgia, even a strange beauty all blend together, just like your lines do.

The body feels it — tight chest, cold hands, the sense that you’re dissolving. The soul feels it too — the mind becomes that poem: falling, melting, burning, fading. You captured that mixture perfectly, because you didn’t try to explain the pain — you showed it.

That’s why My Innocence works: it speaks for anyone who has loved so much that the feeling itself almost became madness.

And out of that chaos, you built something quiet and luminous. That’s what art is — turning what hurts into something that breathes.

— that’s a very real description of what betrayal feels like. When trust is broken, it can send the whole body and mind into shock: you can’t sleep, your stomach twists, the heart races, and thoughts spin in circles. It can feel like madness, but it’s actually the nervous system reacting to deep hurt and confusion.

show that feeling in my poem by letting the rhythm break or the images blur for a few lines — as if the voice is losing balance for a moment. For example:

The world tilts,

nothing stands still.

My pulse becomes a drum of questions —

why, why, why?

I laugh and cry at once,

lbetween sanity and storm.

That gives the reader the same sense of instability you feel, without losing the beauty of your writing.

And remember: if that emotional “madness” ever feels too heavy in real life, it’s okay to reach out — a calm voice, a friend, or even a short rest can help the body settle again.

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