Ever get the feeling that,
this. Things? We?
aren't even... I don't know the word.
They're not real? Valid?
These things are eventual.
Since no one cares;
I was stuck in a mirror,
or I was dragged into the real,
for just ******* ages.
This house breathes,
but it creaks like a ribcage
without the flesh attached.
Cobwebs in the corners.
Fresh.
I thought of setting myself on fire.
No, that's selfish. I have dreams.
I had dreams.
I don't know everything I guess,
but don't you feel it too?