I’m Sitting
Just sitting
But then again not really
I’m Thinking
Sitting and thinking
Still, not completely
Thinking about what I'm thinking
Scrutinizing each thought with great detail
and I ask myself “Really?”
It's scary
It truly scares me
To sit with only my thoughts
So I shudder
Ice dropping into my core
What horror?
To have days upon days with only I
Like I am one person
Yet many
Still only me
But me, many times over
Who do I tell?
If anyone knew
It'd be off to a white padded cell
My hell
Where I'd be left with my thoughts
I know I'm not crazy
But that's what I feel
Like nothing is ever really real
Relatively speaking
Speaking of perpective
But perspective is what I'm seeking
Solid ground
I want for once to not change an ounce of my outlook
Is it easier to outsource your information?
I question myself
Who comes up with this stuff?
It’s like there’s a newsroom in my brain
In which everyone else practices restain
Except for one asshole
That one who finds the smallest thing fascinating
Brews horror stories to keep it all entertaining
And the big boss has an anxiety ridden desk lady
Who basically runs the show so everyone thinks the boss is kind of shady
Alright, I’m crazy
And I don’t make any sense
But maybe the craziest part
Is that before the finish and after the start...
I knew this
Fully embrace it
Because without it
I fear I’d be dull and complacent