I smiled at the mad man down the street.
We had the same colour of sadness in our eyes.
Yesterday, both of us fell in love with a knife.
Sometimes I used it on my own skin,
but the mad man used it to take a life.
He knocked on the flat downstairs,
and killed another man’s wife.
On the TV, the mad man smiled at me,
Eyes with flecks of madness, strife.
The people around me panicked,
asked “What if I was the wife?”
While I wondered what it could take
For me to be the mad man with the knife.
What shade would madness take in my eyes?
Would it be someone’s wife?
Or would I take my own life?
Art: Dawn, Alena Aenami, 2018