I feel isolated from reality.
My intuition tells me that something is not right, I cannot quite put my finger on it, but it isn’t right.
A chill takes over my body and leaves me shaking, and all the thoughts fall off the top of my head like leaves off a tree.
To be defined by eyes that are incapable of seeing the truth, and so their lies become my own.
I let them seep into my skin, attack my subconscious like cancer and slowly take over until I am no longer myself.
My soul fights, and I feel the stabbing in my stomach; I feel the snakes as they twist and turn inside my belly, nesting within.
My ears hear nothing but their hisses and rattling.
My insecurities are not my design; they’re given birth to, fathered by every ugly word I am told.
I find it somewhat humorous that most people mistake my indisputability and sincerity for weaknesses; they confuse my caring for neediness.
Little do they know how my mind has its universe, and even I am not the center of it all.
My stars, my moons and suns, all the planets and black holes, all the unknown and worlds to be discovered within will forever be an enigma to them.
Yes, I am aware I was molded with a heart big enough to devour the Earth; with care for even the most insignificant things.
Yes, I know my tongue cannot bear to not speak of my emotions and things that unsettle my soul.
Yes, I understand my love is not meant for anyone to hold.
I am used to being taken for granted. I give more than people can take. And I feel greedy when I accept the scraps of feelings they feed me.
I am not weak. My existence does not depend on the presence of others; it is only a preference. Being alone does not scare me; in fact, I crave it.
What terrifies me, though, is being alone with my thoughts.