Needless Things: The Mind of a Tortured Genius

A mind like burning silver, too bright to ever rest, Where every thought’s a battlefield caged inside the chest. Ideas bloom like poison flowers in a storm of blackened light, Each revelation feels like glory twisted through with blight.

He dreams in spirals, bleeds in colors only madness knows, A prophet in a paper crown where fractured brilliance grows. His soul’s a forge of iron will, but every spark draws pain, For geniuses are lightning storms that never find the rain.

He speaks in riddles to himself, in languages unknown, Chasing ghosts of innovation through a kingdom of his own. The world applauds his genius, but they’ll never understand, That brilliance is a funeral torch he carries in his hand.

So let them call him broken, let them fear his haunted fire, For tortured minds are crucibles where gods and fools conspire. If sanity’s a prison cell, then madness sets him free, A tortured genius crowned in flame, alone with destiny. NNN