I live in my skin
acutely aware
and suffer a voice in my brain,
a demon or such
who’s there to deceive,
his goal is to make me insane.
He leaves those alone
who don’t seem to feel,
those zombies who live in a dream,
He mocks their dull lives
and simple retreats
while I bear the weight of his beam.
His whispering thoughts
are constantly there,
they haunt and they curse late at night,
while zombies asleep
on opposite sides
of chasms are dreaming they’re right.
To narrow the gap
of this great divide
I must find a place in-between,
to build me a room
with comfortable chairs
and settle my soul with routine,
The problem it seems
is “see-saw syndrome”,
there’s no stopping once in the air,
I get to the point
where I might find rest
then freefall back down to despair.