The Strangest Thing

Thrice I’ve been struck in the heart, and all but one wound has healed.
Time will do most of the work, but I’m trapped in my head until it is done.
Until then however, I have my time, alone, with a new way of thinking.
It changes every time.
One must be crazy, surely, to think in that way:
Not right in the head, one way or another,
When a person’s greatest joy, is the same terrible fear he may have.
When he would die to preserve the one he truly cares for,
But they are just as quick to waste life if they do the same for him.
Why would it make sense? It must be the deranged man’s emotion,
As no sound person would soberly think this way.
Same goes for when it is lost, as it may be an arrow.
A shot in the chest is far less lethal if it’s carefully removed,
And yet I see people ripping their chests open to get rid of the arrows
Finding only that they are exposing their scars,
And tearing parts of their heart out.
Would a sane man do these things?
It seems that only mad men would.
It must be like Mercury, or like Alcohol, blinding the senses and dissolving the mind.  
A disease perhaps, in which there is no immunity.
But after every illness, after every sip,
He becomes stronger, worldlier, wiser, and more aware.
This I believe, is the strangest thing of all, is that
One can actually become perceptive by destroying their senses,
Cutting themselves to pieces only to arrive back as a whole.
And give in to madness, briefly, so that they would come out a better person.
However, the little pieces of the heart that comes out with every arrow,
Are replaced by the little pieces of heart that came out with their arrow.
When was it ever right to purposely make wrong?
Logic is lost, and insanity is creeping in,
But since when were we ever completely sane?
As it will always be the strangest thing.