Call It Schizophrenic



My way of life

And your way of life

Are two different ways of living.

Where my dreams are reality

And yours are solely nonfiction,

Imagination forms a line

That borders this idea


My state of mind

And your state of mind

Are two different modes of thought.

Things I think of appear right before my eyes

But before my eyes only.

For some reason,

Your mind won't allow you to see them


The things I see

And the things you see

Are two different versions of the same thing.

To you, a trash can is merely disposal

But to me, that trash can imitates life

By retaining an indefinite shape

And communicating with me


The things I hear

And the things you hear

Pose themselves

As two different sounds.

I'm left to suffer

From the harsh sound that silence makes

But you sit there as if you cannot hear it's screech.


I see these hallucinations

And yet, you don't

I suffer from these delusions

And yet, you don't

I feel so socially isolated

And yet, you don't

I lose control of my emotions

And yet, you don't

Why is it that everything I do, you don't?


I don't feel this world I live on

So you probably do

And maybe your right.

But who's to say I’m not the one living in the real reality?

That you’re the one who's "Not really living".

This must be the price I pay

For being Schizophrenic



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