Criticize me for I am insane

I am not as toxic as the bugs may imply, 
not jovial enough to be unnoticed, 
not the person who just passed by, 
not ethereal as the humble may be..
Not of the dirt, neither am I born to fly 

Criticize me, for I am insane,

For I am too much to bear for your temperate neuron frame;

I killed systems, as on a regular morning stroll,

and I killed those, whose love invariably took my toll

..and I slay self, when I am not up for the task

When there is no glory, on which I am left to bask

There is a pattern that yet governs my heart

a skill too complicated, an abstract function of art,

lived in the way, the sculptors live their life;

In the solace of the nature, their held in vice

Free of the world and their cosmetic apparent self

But caught in their madness, their own inherent elf

Maybe that's the reason, as to why, 

I appear toxic..and I appear inane 

to the bugs, who have a temperate neuron frame.

Poem Definition Feb 27, 2013