I tend to imagine people around me,
Complimenting or being in awe,
Of the calm I feel in the devil's maw.
I'll go home,
And through my mind the instances roam.
She says "Wow, his outfit looks great!"
He says "It's incredible how hard he works despite all that.".
After the daydreaming,
I'll comeback to reality and think I'm mad.
I despise myself for hoping that they like me.
That they may see my way to relay how I'm losing my aim.
That they see the pain.
Maybe one day.