Do you ever get that feeling, the feeling of being stared at?
Whether it be in the nice way, or in the nitpicking way, or that one where you could be in an empty alleyway and you feel it. Like something is looking into your soul, something dark. And it's slowly making you into a dark thing to?
Well, maybe I'm that thing.
Slowly turning people evil, just by trying to hang out with them. Can't make friends, just alone. Once they approach, it's too late. I can' stop them, I can't push them away. I can only run and hope I didn't blacken their soul to much it pained them.
I can hide in the deepest darkest corner and slowly escape.
But when I turn around, I wake up. I come into reality.
A cube, a cube of solitude and white pillow walls. A jacket restraining me.
Maybe its for the best.
What possibly could my future have been.
Filled with insanity.
Questioning.
Curiosity.
Cuts.
Numbering off those days since he left.
Was I five?
Left.
All alone.
Abandon building.
Broken glass.
The numbness that helped me feel nothing else.
Maybe it is better I'm in here,
Making the doctors feel they are doing something,
When in reality even if I die, nothing would change.