Shrinking away from reality.
Slipping into an isolated state.
Why must the birds chirp to bring me back into this world?
The little liars surround me, so safe and comfortable in their faulty illusion of the real.
They drown themselves in idle amusements,
and easy inquiries that never puncture anything,
but merely graze the surface.
Left a lone ranger in a black hole with no escape–my only companion, my mind;
my only vehicle, a feeble, decaying body.
My thoughts are sloughed off my mind as my skin cells follow suit
the epidermis leaving my living form behind to become a thin layer of dust on the many surfaces I surround myself with in order to feel a part of this world, of this reality.
Will my thoughts suffer the same fate?