I stare at my four walls
If there was a speech bubble where would it fall?
Sometimes I think I am cartoon character on TV.
Waiting for the script to become the real me
Sometimes the world steals my ideas
Sometimes I can't grasp reality from my fears
Tears form to loneliness of which we were born
It's the storm of the monologue which yearns to escape us
The people who berate us, hate us probably are jealous
Of our strangeness.