Sometimes I wonder
Is something wrong with me?
Why can I not feel the same emotions that everyone else feels?
Why do I analyze to the point of self-destruction?
As they tease and laugh, lost in their own world of the moment
I see
Every mouth twitch;
Every flick of the eye;
Every jaw clench;
Every facade that surrounds them.
Or...
Is that just a figment of my cruel imagination
Forcing me to pretend to be someone I'm not
Because I cannot trust the faces around me.
When I'm alone with you
And you smile so beautifully
I do not trust you.
I will only trust you once I have seen your truths
The screams and tears that crave an escape from the silk cages
That you've entrapped them in.
When I am alone, walking down the streets,
As the sunrise washes my sins of the night away,
That is when I wonder to myself
If there is something wrong with me
or if
I am the only one who can see what the blind cannot.

You're just like the stars.
Always on everyone's mind,
Yet somehow never on mine.

Looking down on the Earth,
Behind my steel bars that limit me,
I wonder what feeling is like.
How do you feel when your veins are tangled?
How do you feel when your brain is smashing against your skull, wanting freedom?
How do you feel when everyone tries to click their heels and wish to go home,
But can't since they have nowhere to go?
Scraping my knees against the pavement.
Dropping on the streets of New York.
Unwanting to get up.
Unwilling to live.
I am stuck behind a birdcage.
I am just for show.
Even when my body washes up on the beach, as red as the blood that streams in you.
I am for show.
Bars holding me back.
My mind taken from reality.
Thrown into the clouds.
Stuck on a melting rainbow.
Ready to crash down.
Back on to the world.
Even as I watch humanity grow weak.
I will not shed a tear,
Since I am not a part of humanity.
I do not count myself as human,
If humans are defined by ones cowardness and ability to find
Dark humor in grotesque situations of another's pain.
If 'human' is defined by throwing ones self onto another
to find happiness,
I will not dare call myself human.

This here is my truth.
It's raw, scarred flesh
A disgrace to look upon,
But this maggot-infested truth
Is mine.
Yours, my sweet-tempered lover,
Lies elsewhere,
In the midst of glorious joy
That everyone longs for.
Your truth, my honey-eyed darling,
Is one to be accepted with open arms,
Unlike mine
Which must be accepted only under the harshest conditions.
This is my truth:
I am not who I say I am.