Schizo

I'm starting to loose my mind. I'm feeling alien in a world that was once my own. Warped and twisted by the passages of time, I can see the tears in the fabric blowing in the wind. What kind of world am I building, what kind of world am I leaving behind? I never miss my home until I'm so far away from it. I'd like to be there now, safe and comfortable in my bed. What a world, what a world.

Everything is loosing focus and my eyes are starting to tear. Those holy moments are being left to the wind as my contacts burn and my stomach turns. Wendys does sound nice right about now. I almost can't wait to get out of here, because the fake laughs and phony smiles don't work anymore.

The holy moments are seem so close yet so far; like the mirage in the distance on a hot summer day on route 50. It feels like they are either below me or just don't care. I really wouldn't mind it if they had found all their answers, but I'm still searching and I wish they'd keep an open mind.

So many jokes, so many foibles. Life is a passing dream, so I can't complain about them enjoying it. Yet, I haven't found my hook and I'd rather not joke. I long for a community of my own. Sometimes I think I've found it, but it's falling apart. Other times it seems like a smoke and mirrors . . . it'll all be over before it began and nothing mattered in the first place.

I can't ask anything of myself then that I be myself, but this proposition seems a lot more difficult then one would first conceive. I'm all over the map with my emotions and my thoughts. I can't see the forest through the trees, so I'm walking between the leaves. I hope I find something that makes me feel whole. Maybe I'll just fall into a hole.

A terrible silence sleeps in me. I've been searching for help for two decades, and nothing serves to give me the answers I do seek. I'd take a peek at the cheat sheet like oh so many video games before, but this one's real and all I can do is try to feel, feel my way through this forest maze.