My hands shake,
my skin itches,
Bellow there it hardens and heats.
.
g
D e p r e s s e d , i
x d
i n f a t u a t e d
t r y
b o r e d o
d u
s a d
e
d
bunch of emotion,
tangled together.
.
By the way, I'm not high.
I can't even afford those illegal ones.
Even if I can,
I value my self identity and intellect to have it ruined.
.
Thus I am sane.
Completely sane.
I can tell my left from right,
Know what is one plus one.
Or probably I am not,
But simply one who is rational.
.
Don't tell me they don't exist!
To you maybe, but to me they're real!
I freaking am staring at them as they do to me!
I hear their whispers though incoherently.
Their touch, though I don't know if cold or warm.
.
A horse is a horse for it wont fly.
Thus if it has wings then such is no more a horse.
If such is the case,
What would I call my ceiling that is now smiling?
.
Talking in tangents,
I should've been talking about the feelings went haywire,
Yet I went up and talked about my now drooling ceiling.
I must be indeed insane,
Yet I was able to determine thus still I am not.
.
Then my alarm rings, Thus I woke up.
I opened my eyes then, I stood up.
Wait, I don't have an alarm.