Madness is the Route of All Fun Really.
Madness is like gravity. All it takes is a little push.
I wanted to push him over the edge, for him to teeter-totter on the precipice of reality and fucked up mania. For the darkness of madness to consume him entirely and for him to live in my world. The world of purple smiles and your own disillusioned laughter ringing in your ears every time silence strikes.
It is madness that I live in, that I breathe in every minute and roll around with. It is madness that I apply in front of the mirror every morning – hide your scars Joker, your face isn't right for our world. My world and their world aren't the same – my reality is a twisted fucked up mind-freak of a wonderland where there are knives and pictures of pain in every turn.
"Your mother never loved you" the Shrink said, but two days later Mr. Shrinky was dead – and his death by knife (yet again, it's always the sharp blooded metal that calls to me) is the most interesting yet. Never before have I had someone trying to help me whilst they are killed. He takes his work home with him that Mr. Shrinky – telling me to "put the knife down – the carving of my skin won't seize the carving of your heart."
Like all I've ever wanted was metaphors thrown at me.
Throw me a metaphor Mr. Shrinky, and maybe you won't be dead!
And it's the manic, scared – crazy laughter ringing in my ears again, and in the shower the water runs white, red and green. Like the American Flag couldn't really make it today; the chlorine faded it a little bit but it's still good enough for you right America?
The Batman; The Joker. We're the same you see. We both have a "The" at the start of our names, like there could be no other. I like that – the idea that nobody could replicate me entirely, that these scars are unique to my face – that my story (never to be truly told, no no no) could never be true to someone else. I know like me, he has this dark madness caged up inside of him – rattling the bars of the cage in which it is trapped. I have the key Batman, I have the key to set it all loose. How would you like to be out of control?
To be moved from the drivers seat to the passenger side? To watch as your body moves on instinct as it kills me like it's been wanting to for so long now. I would die for your freedom of that madness – all this power that you hold in your hands would be chaos to Gotham City. My death from your hands would be chaotic. There would be no turning back for you once to do that final chokehold; you wouldn't be able to lock him back up in that brain-frame of yours. He would be free, to frollick in purple fields of black matte wrist guards with retractable blades and poppies made out of blood and desire.
The deepest desire to kill any "criminal" that crosses your path.
Not that they can really be called a criminal nowadays, all they want is the bad-boy lifestyle – they still have consciences, still have consciousness. But I, I've been living in this world of suits of cards for years now, never taking anything too seriously – just throw a Joker at it that'll make it happy.
Carve a smile onto your sad little face so that the world can believe you're really not that sad at all.
Or even better, throw a Batman at it so that the world can believe that something's actually happening after all. That madness is fought with darkness controlled by the good side – that all the world's problems are being stitched and sewn up – no scars left behind, no trace nor memory.
But we could be great together you know: me and Batman. Our fight to the death will continue forever 'cause it's just too fun to push him to the edge and bring him back. It would be so much easier if we were together, get some treachery going in there. Some deeper green with all that purple and blood. Him with his anger issues and me with my fractured mind (busted from flipping back from my reality to everybody else's too many times). We're practically a perfect little broken couple already.
Already have our own costumes – don't we. All we need now is a theme tune.