There's a Method to the Madness

Thanks a bunch Mr. Sharbrough :)

Splattered paint
across a vast ocean
of fallen rock pools.
Walking on eggshells,
my weight
crushes everything.
Your dainty feel slip through.
You're too far
ahead.
I can't see you-
do I even know you?-
anymore.

Maybe I'm confused.
Or maybe
this is just
madness.

Shooting stars rain down
into pools of blood
teeming with
broken thoughts and
lost souls.
My vision is painted red.
Nothing makes sense.
The sky burns
a brilliant green
the color of shattered glass
floating on the surface
of something bigger.

Maybe we're all confused.
On thing is certain;
this is all madness.

Grid lines settle
on a barren earth
nothing lines up,
nothing falls into place.
Set fire to the trees
as they reach up to the sky
watch them burn down,
a monument to your
invalid compensation.

So bow to your creator
as the sun sets on this
self-righteous condemnation.
Bow before me,
but mark this-
do not worship me;
I am no saint.

These random patterns weave
nets and restraints
of nonsense, holding you back.
It makes no sense
but fear not-

There's a method to this madness.

Author's Note

Gahhhh the 10th and 11th lines bug the crud out of me