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Crazy is but a symptom

Of exiting your own head,

Leaving the door behind you

Open to possibilities and more.

To realize Crazy is to

Jump out of a moving plane,

Letting a gravity of feelings

Be the promise of destiny.

Crazy is not burning out,

Nor is it fading out of sight,

But killing the suns inside you,

Let your eyes be my black holes.

Crazy is not our three things,

But the fears that formed them,

The helplessness that sustains them,

The cunning ugly odds that surround them.

Crazy is not the kissing,

But the happy feet;

The mutual struggle to keep a

Meager sanity between us.

Crazy is not the dozing off,

But the promise of tomorrow;

The persuasion of destiny,

Surety like distance between our butts.

Crazy is not the poems,

Nor the mindgasms,

The poems are just me

Noting down my baby’s weight.

Crazy is you-centric!