All of my frustrations are turning my mind against me,
Creating a world outside of reality, swimming in the confines of my brain.
They are stripping me of my internal organs, and leaving nothing but a
Pile of bones inside a raw satchel of my skin.
An empty shell
Of pure and
Utter confusion:
Loss.
And yet!
I will myself to underestimate the potential of my bones and skin,
To underestimate the power of that reality-less world.
So still my frustrations will turn my mind against me,
But I will not succumb.