I'm scared of my own mind.
I think things no one should think.
I empathize with monsters more than humans.
No one gets it.
They think I'm "just acting" and
"They know the real me"
What does real even mean?
Which character I play is the real one?
I'm just playing ten thousand roles, like a child would,
Except children stop playing to go eat dinner
And I eat dinner to convince people I've stopped playing.
I'm mean, but I'm joking.
Doesn't make me any less of a jerk.
My mind runs in circles... I'm fake,
So my friends must be too.
My family doesn't love me; I hear what they say.
You can't fix it, you haven't fixed it,
YOU ARE A FAILURE
And you need to stop trying so very hard to be perfect because you'll never even get close to mediocre...
Someone enter my mind and help me-
No. Run away.
I'll hurt you. I'll hurt myself.
Some days everything is fine;
Then I think.
I'm trapped in a terrifying world of my own design,
And my blood will be on my own head.
Stay away. I'm scared to touch you.