The Word Cloud

i don't feel real anymore.

i feel like i'm watching life, not living it.

i’m just a cartoon. untouchable.

unshakable.

my body feels uncomfortable,

like i'm detaching from it,

like i'm pouring out of myself,

out of my cage.

that could be dangerous for me.

but what could possibly threaten a ghost?

laughing is effortless.

i'm not depressed-

i'm not real.

anything goes. but nothing is.

that didn't count. i fucked it all up.

i'll rewrite it tonight,

re-right it tonight.

make it better,

more beautiful,

like a well-told fairytale

so god damn unreal

and melodic,

with a bitter sweetness that’s nearly sickening.

it’s my dream. my rules.

what's the difference between the hand i see in my head

and the hand i see on my body?

there are no boundaries.

i can see whatever i want.

none of it’s real anyway.

numbness is bliss.

life on sedatives can take the pain away.

embrace the ignorance.

significance is insignificant.

everyone's playing their role,

oblivious to the fact that it's nothing but a play,

a show.

why so serious?

why plan tomorrow

when i'm only one action or event away from an unpreventable exit?

my body is not a temple,

it's a prison.

trapped.

externally? internally? both.

but why does it matter where i am?

or where i’m going?

or what i feel?

nothing matters.

i'm not real.