Nonexistence is reality
Or nonreality, in truth
I don't feel bad but I don't feel good
And there's no reason for either anyway.
The world whizzes past
I close my eyes
I spin but it gets me nowhere
I feel like I'm not even a part
Of the grass underfoot or the air brushing cheek.
I'm jealous - I want to engage
But I'm tired, so tired
It all seems so old, psuedo-shiny from wear
I want something new but I'm tired.
Where did my closet of masks go?
I'm in need of an old stand-by
I guess I got rid of them somewhere along the way
But like an addiction, I crave a fix.
I feel bared and vulnerable
Tender skin without enough plastic to hide it
Everyone around looks able to handle
Even tougher things than I have to complain of.
It's Sunday, but I'm broken - nothing's coming through
Yet everything that touches this tender skin makes me bleed
I don't want to bring others down
But I'm having trouble dealing with exposure.