What does it mean to be human?
Does it mean that your body is flesh and bone?
My body is made of plastic.
What are you made of?
What makes a person whole?
Is it fulfillment? Happiness? Soul?
Whatever the case, I am not whole.
Are you?
Are humans intelligent or ignorant?
I am both.
Which one are you?
Are humans kind or wicked?
I do not know which one I am.
Do you know?
Do humans get to choose who they are?
I have tried to mould myself as best I can, into the person I want to be
Have you?
Are you human?
I am, decidedly, not human.
I am that which I do not know of
I am that which I do not wish to discover
I hope never to know who I am.
Who are you?

What if I told you I hold demons inside?

What if I told you about the tears I hide?

What if I told you about every time I lied?

What if I told you my dreams of suicide?

What if I told you I wear a mask on the outside?

What if I told you in myself I confide?

What if I told you about all the times of happiness I was denied?

Never fit in.
Never stood out.
Thoughts twisted around.
Empty gaze.
Lost in this maze.
To this darkness I am bound.
Deep cuts.
Deeper scars.
Bleeding on the ground.

I feel a need to ****.
Both myself and anyone near me.
I've thought of ways to end my life.
I've methodically found ways to end the others.
So tell me am I suicidal or a ******?