Sleep. Sleep child, til' the light overpowers the darkness inside, where I secretly cried. I secretly tried, but no one would guess, and I never put my cards face up. It's only ketchup. Used to patch up, the cut and scratch ups, caused by the dull of my pencil, and my soul. I fell, but I dragged myself up again, back into my daily skin, and I'm that burden. That one whose not fully there, told by everyone, "you just don't care", with a random shudder scare. The words I despise you all think, even the shrink, and it drowns me to the sink. I'm that disaster, everyone's after, maniacal laughter. "Am I losing my mind?" "Is this mind really mine?" "Would dying be fine?" I'm not so refined :) I can see the things in perfect imagery, things I don't want to see, always worried everyone hates me. I can't see, I'm not me, I'm not even a somebody. Maybe inside is some other ghost, I'm the host, at my death let's just have a toast. Til' death do we part, take it as a new start, buy the roses to my grave from walmart. I didn't think I mattered anyways, sleeping through these pass-me-by days, my mind playing simon says. I always secretly try, but I am still I, and now simon says ".....goodbye."