These hands are blurred. Saltwater is red. This isn’t real.
It comes in waves. I’m shaking. And then it stops. Why? And then it starts again. This isn’t real.
This room is so black, this screen so bright. This isn’t real.
I’m cold. I’m scared and alone. I’m terrified. Overwhelmed and empty. Two pills numbed me. This isn’t real.
I don’t want it to be real. Not anymore. This isn’t real. If this is reality, then reality is a prison and I want out.
Peter Pan, come take my hand; take me away, to a world I can breathe in without painting my lungs so black and decaying.
This isn’t real. I don’t wanna be awake if this is real.
I’m not even there.