So this is what it’s like, Being a wallflower. Watching everyone else destroy each other In silent awe. If you blend in the background, You won’t be hurt again. Already being destroyed from the inside, Couldn’t take it from outside. Intimidation, fear, weakness. I’m terribly tired of crying. Sometimes, when I look in the mirror And say my name, It doesn’t seem real. Things slip away through my fingertips. When I open my eyes, I see nothing, I feel nothing. I panic trying to see something. But I can’t. I can’t. I’m invisible and yet defined. The perks non-existent. I’m scared by movement. Sickened by touch. This feeling that tells me I’m never enough. I’m not worth a damn, The tragedy: I know it. Unrealistic fits seize my body. The mental part finally overwhelms the physical. The nature of this freedom to move convulsively Is calming to the senses. Is this what I’ve been waiting for? I’d die to feel infinite.