Your sitting and someone pops you a question.
Your sitting in a room where everyone avoids the eyes.
Not the eyes of one person,
But the eyes of everyone around them.
There here to help were all here to get help.
I came here to get help.
Someone pops you a question.
The brave one.
Hey, I've seen you at school.
Why,are you here?
All is dryly silent,
Has it always been this silent?
Why.....are you here?
Hyper and curious they sound despite the environment already answering.
I had an accident,
I am being helped.
It's quiet again.
Has it always been this silent?
Are you sure or is that what they've told you.
No,
I can feel the difference.
The doctor will see you now........

WHY
Why do I feel so angry as I stand behind an angry man waiting for a path to exist across a busy street.
Why do I feel such sorrow and pain as I sit next to a morning widow on the bus.
These emotions are not my own,
But oh how they consume my entire being.
A man with a receding hair line sayes I am one of few.
Empath.
At first I felt relief on the new discovery,
But then I realized what it meant my emotions,
My being was just bits and pieces of others.
I am a collage of the left overs of others.
I am a sad patchwork doll.
Why must I be so strange and grotesque.
My body and mind see no boundaries,
We see what's inside of everybody.
I am fake I am not myself,
but a bit of everyone.