Sometimes, I wonder,
Am I trapped inside my own head?
Refusing to believe the written on the page,
I just make up my own.
Is this what constitutes insanity?
Or is it my own lack of ability,
My refusal to see the light,
Even in the brightest of days?
My own thoughts like flies,
Drawn to the stench of my rotting mind?
Is this my own choice, my own fate?
Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like it.