Fortnight Massacre

Melancholy springs forth into a fortnight massacre,
A common disaster for those whose minds misfire.
Summer doldrums turn into fierce hurricanes,
The insane are dreamers with nothing to aspire.
Fortuitousness begets desire insipid,
Perverse enchantment and speculation.
Inquisition can only create venomous hatred,
Paranoid ideations divide the mind into nations.
Nighttime hours collect like secrets under the bed,
Wide eyed manic stares and an echo in the wind.
The sky awash in an awkward half-hearted glow,
In darkness lies the shame of the daylight's chagrin.
Forget everything the scholars and poets said,
Their words like applause in an empty venue.
Thought isn't free if the mind turns into a cage,
Truth isn't truth if it isn't what you knew.
My mind operates in misperception of actuality,
The swells of voices like chimes in the void.
In the night it dawns on me that I do not belong,
The bygone product of a promise destroyed.