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Insanity, or is it?
There is a realization that one room can feel like a cage,
A prison for the insane,
it’s maddening really if you think about it and set aside your sadness and rage.
I look around this empty room, with it’s white walls, they feel dead.
Hell, or maybe that is actually how I AM instead.
In all truth I am a tad insane, I mean, I have done very stupid things.
What with the drugs, the men AND women, the psychotic behavior, this is just what being me brings.
So, maybe it’s not the walls nor the room making me this way.
Maybe it’s my cranium, that little pink thing riding around in my skull, telling me there really is a price to pay.
Describing these white walls and my insanity, it may confuse
but I’m at least getting somewhere, I think, and hell, I’m not drinking any booze.
I mean, really, am I insane or am I just considered partially unstable?
Really, I believe that I am not really that able.
Maybe it’s just me, but I see and hear things all the time and usually I go out just trying to find another high.
I have done pill popping, have went out to bars seeking one night stands, and I’ve done marijuana just to give it a try.
So in truth, my sanity may be just doing all the things I do.
In all, fuck, it just might just be true.
(2013)
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