My mind

I don’t like this place.

I play music to drown out the sound of nothingess,

but I still feel nothing but nothingness.

Less time spent outside turns into more time spent inside…




All I hear are thoughts…

My thoughts hear thoughts and feel insane…


I notice it’s all me.

It has always been me.

By myself in a world filled.

I don’t mean to mean to be alone…

I just always get left because I don’t do anything right…

But write.

In the worlds I create,

there is no right and wrong,

there is only my song,

with only room for modification.

My own room…


I can’t be the me I picture,

if I still see myself as the picture mommy painted.


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