Let's talk about our lives, our wonderful wonderful lives. The lives we think about day to day because we live them so carelessly in the sense of our own well-being. We care about us and only us. Us in the sense that we are only ourselves, no one else we pretend to be. Only this happens so often, where ignorant people unaware of themselves pretend to be someone else. Someone else they think they truly are but in fact are not. The thoughts in my head are real, but am I in fact real? A true persona of myself? A young woman in black, white, teal, gray? Who are we really? Question, question, question, question? I have brunette hair of rolling waves and eyes that are blue and pale like a cloudy sky and skin as pale as marble and snow and lips cracked and pale as well, like dried up carnation petals. I am a young woman, or girl, or young lady. I know what I am. I am a mentally unstable entity, a ******* edge of a chasm of the mind. The tiny demons, crawling black and quiet and fast. "Did you see that?" I'd ask and all replies say, "No." Am I losing my mind? A truly mind barreling, thought projecting spiral of my own demons appearing on my suburbia street. Act happy, say hello, smile. Routine, routine, routine, routine. Don't you see? We're all in hell. Am I the only one who knows it? I've turned, a young innocent girl, to a black on black wearing delinquent of a routine, cliche, conservative era. I am different, whether I am real is still my ever mind numbing question. I am not Good. I am not Bad. I am not Cute. I am not Preppy. I am not Rich. I am not Poor. I am not Goth. I am not Emo. I am not Grunge. I am Not. I am Not. I am Not. Am I Not? Who am I? Who are you? I have friends, friends of great birth and creation. They are my soul mates, though not of romantic kind. They are my soul mates in the sense that our minds meld in a precious manner, like gold. No, like molasses and syrup. If heated up we are painfully fast and overwhelming, covering everything in sight. When at room temperature, we are sickly sweet and slow, waiting for a thought to pick and pull apart upon ourselves. Their beautiful minds are like Evergreens and Aspens: partly permanent and luscious, partly colorful and changeable. Folie à Duex: Madness Has Two. A well used term, but my term is Madness à Trois: Madness Has Three. A maniacally made trio of doom, composed of minds far greater than any Diseased Adult Mind.