The Inmate
Is real or is this pretend?
The voices in my head, one says this, one says that.
Which one is right and which one is wrong?
To define right and wrong is different for everyone.
Perhaps there is no right, is no wrong, only action and judgement.
Who’s to act? Who’s to judge?
You do this, I do that, and we’ll accept anything that comes before us.
Are we rebelling against them or are they rebelling against us?
Pushing, pulling, twisting, turning, truth, lies, reality, imagination.
Can you see the truth in these lies or the lies in these truths?
Blood sprinkled into white, white snow.
Black as white and white as black.
Feathers, teardrops, red, darkness, rain, fire.
Destruction and salvation contrast,
Yet are the same.
Redemption is not possible once you have taken that first step.
Once you start seeing things, hearing things, feeling things,
You start to change.
People, visions, sensations come and go.
Emotions surge and sanity plunges.
Reality is just a state of mind.
Nothing is ever real, ever present.
The past, future, present blend all into one.
Time stopping, sprinting, slowly inching along.
Disappear, reappear, and disappear again.
On, off, on, off, up, down, left, right, every which way.
Passion, anger, hatred, love, death, life, power.
The strongest is portrayed as the most insufficient figure,
The person who would seem to make the least difference.
They rise. They fight. They transform. They fall.
But they are all but done, they remain only dormant in their state of
Misery, agony, pleasure.
Blade comes down. It either slits or it falters.
Fate spares some and slays others.
No one knows the ones who were slain were the most sane
And the ones who survived will grow to lay siege upon their world.
THEIR world, what they think, what they know they own.
Their world could easily become ours if we fail to raise our shield.
Not a soul, but a gaping hole.
Not a frown, but a gray stone smile.
All names are numbers, all identities revealed.
All backstories are revenge, all knowledge concealed.
Grins and smirks are the warning.
Violence is the entertainment.
Am. I. Insane? Insane? Insane?
Possibly, maybe, no one knows,
But proud to be.
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