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Glass Eyes

Voices I hear turn into colours I create. The objects I touch, I realise were never true and never held form.

What do emotions look like? What is despair? What is joy? This life that I live is nothing less than a cruel joke. If life is a game, which level am I on? How far have I reached? How far will I reach? Who will understand? Who will want to understand?

I have questions, to which answers I do not seek. I have questions that are not grammatically correct. Questions that take up five lines. Questions that end with ten question marks.

I am desperate. Desperate for love, pain, heartbreak and loneliness. Desperate for this cycle that eventually leads to nothing. I am desperate for nothing because right now, I feel everything. I cannot explain it. It is as if everything I experience is a dream that lasts forever. Maybe I wake up every day to feel, to collect these voices I hear. Maybe I live in my dreams. Maybe I should. Who can harm me there?

Why must fear chase me when I do not run? I am not afraid. There, I am contradicting myself. I am not afraid of you. I am afraid of myself. Apprehension. What will happen next? I hear what you are saying about me. You must think I am crazy. Being called crazy is not bad until you actually reach that point of self-destruction. Maybe I am crazy.

Black, black, black in just one shade. It is my beginning, it is my end. Every colour that I make slowly turns into this horrible, selfish, haunting black. You have not experienced darkness like I have. You have not felt void like I have. You will never.

I cannot see beauty because it lies in the eyes of the beholder. I cannot do evil because I have never seen it. I can see madness and chaos because that is what I have become. -Anonymous


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