I was the one who sat in the dark. I was the one who saw no start. I walked in circles, round and round, only to find myself at the beginning point. I'm sitting there, staring at the wall of insanity, wondering when the voices will stop. Dark figures haunt my paths creating a dissenting chill up my spine. Scars an all, they see me as broken. Thoughts and fall, they couldn't help me. They tried with words, meditation, even solitude. It just made it worse. The floor became a friend only because it followed me. Read the bible they said, pray more, speak to God... but what is he? Who has created me to be? I'm not meant to be here. I want out, away from the world's filth. I have burn holes in my lungs from the smokey air. Can screams fade farther from my reach as I run for an aid? I did the deathly things, I lived in pain. I loved the pain, it lived in me like a close friend would in your heart. I've grown accustomed to the beating drum of yesterday's cynical dream. They can leave and they can differ from what I mean. But they will never know my level of insanity.
