It's kind of like there are holes in reality
And often times a hand is reaching out
Grabbing at my feet and attempting to pull me underneath
Sometimes it succeeds
All too often I'm less concerned for myself and more so for what the people above me might think
Screaming excuses that sound barely audible to the ones still on the ground, I'm below you and you still don't know
To the people who haven't lost there footing and can't hear my cries
I know that I'm odd at times
And I'm sorry I can't let you in to see all the things happening inside
But quite honestly my head is the only acceptable place I've ever been able to hide