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…
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.