The crazy ones care. A lot. They care till their nerve ends explode with electricity and their tears numbs their sight.
The crazy ones are the ones who live the moment- it’s got nothing to do with alcohol or abstinence. Naah, they don’t care if you’re high or if you’re being correct. They stare you in the eyes and they blush and they let their senses do the talking. Beware of the moments they can’t look you in the eye- overwhelmed as they are all they want to do is explode.
And explode they will. Without adulteration. One moment of being a star that takes with it everything that it has.
But a star dies.
The crazy ones live on. In your blood, in your system- when you look around for a solution to all this order and calm. They live in your cries of help- merciful, mirthful and available. Easy to forget. Easy to be taken for a ride, asking for it- even. But they’ll live a minute more.
The crazy will drive you to sadness, yes. To depths of darkness and gloom just as intense and blinding as the light and hope they spark at the other end of the spectrum.
Crazy isn’t the mind. Crazy is the gut and the loins and the fingertips.
Crazy is hedonist, and so crazy about you that the lines of love and lust and longing blur till it’s all a shade of white.
The crazy ones live on. In the nights that they spend wondering, weeping, wandering. In the cold nights of distant places that they think they’ve been to but it’s only their minds that are walking.
The only ones the crazy don’t look at is themselves.
And so they stay crazy.