then when i lay in a box of onyx
somehow in a trance of sleepiness
even sadness couldn’t even come through
or happiness
only numbness could be described
ironically numbness became a feeling

the thoughts become overbearing
taking my own life becomes a choice
stepping out onto the road rage of traffic is an ideal

don't say that i am okay
insanity does not equate to "being okay"
the gray overhanging cloud terrorizes my mind and soul from within to the exterior
cursing my bodies with wounds of crimson

people wander among me with no clue
to how my mind can think of a world so cynically
my attribution to life is a torn up blue blanket
fabric barely holding together

temporarily existing in a corrupt societal world