I often can’t decide

whether or not I like

stupid, strange, suspicious

people.

People make me crazy.

People are impossible to even begin to understand.

People make me crazy.

People are atrocious.

People make me insanely, indescribably crazy.

Yet, people are the beauty of,

      people are the point of

Life.

 

Manipulated,

do I see what is real, or what I want to see?

Misguided,

lost beyond hope of return.

Melancholy,

is all I know.

 

I have wasted my days

day dreaming about the

reason I am always

thinking.

Thinking makes me crazy.

Thinking that I am just a mere victim of my own goddamn thoughts.

Thinking makes me crazy.

Thinking is giving in.

Thinking makes me dangerously, distressingly crazy.

Yet, thoughts are the essence of,

      thoughts are what keep us

Human.

 

Manipulated,

do I see what is real, or what I want to see?

Misguided,

lost beyond hope of return.

Melancholy,

is all I know.