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The End of Days

This is it.
I have gone mad.
Lock me away in a padded room,
And throw away the key.
All I ask is a pad, and some dull pencils,
That I may scribble down the
Madhouse of my mind,
Believing myself to be in
Blissful, delusional peace.
Tell them I love them,
That they fill my thoughts,
While my mind shall still have them.
Tell them all to carry on,
And be happy.
The rest of you may forget about me;
Do not visit.
What good to me is any love that I did not have to earn?
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