I'm losing colors in my waters.
The fog in my brain is thickening
and I'm afraid there is a monster.
My breath is steady quickening,
what if I think I'm the imposter?
The thought of it is sickening,
but up there is a higher place
of not racing in thinking things.

With my back against an old tree,
I hope no one can find me.
If they don't understand
what's going on with me
then I can't withstand
the barriers of my sensitivity,
and the sea of regret
comes rushing rapidly.

I'm prone in the force of my zone.
I knew something was altered
when I felt it in my bones.
Stay committed and I fit in
where the normal don't belong.
There's a black sheep in my home.
It's funny how I always feel alone,
even with familiar faces
smiling through the phone.
You've felt it before,
but that'll change when I'm gone
and the mic is on the floor.