I miss the madness

If it were OK to express, there is just one thing I wanted to say
it is how I miss my madness in every single way
I miss the confusion of reality
the loss of contact with an imagined normalcy
the moments when normal and sane blurred so perfectly
the fleeting glimpses of thoughts so obscure
the contrast of hope against vacant static whirrs

the beating of hearts in frantic motion
the reach of a hand from an unsure place of emotion
the look of cheer, sheer glory upon my face
with nothing else left but this sickness so true
I would rather be mad, and along with the few
than a figure eight or a shape upon the sand
If madness is all that I'm coming to learn
then I'll let myself go, and watch the rest burn
an eternal ember of which you can never discern