Call It Schizophrenic

My way of life
And your way of life
Are two different ways
Of living.
Where my dreams
Are reality
And yours
are solely nonfiction,
Imagination forms a line
That borders this idea

My state of mind
And your state of mind
Are two different states
Off mind.
Things I think of
Appear right before my eyes
But only my eyes
For some reason.
Your mind won't allow you
To see them

The things I see
And the things you see
Are two different versions
Of the same thing.
To you, a trash can
Is merely disposal
But to me, that trash can
Imitates life
By retaining an indefinite shape
And communicating with me

The things I hear
And the things you hear
Pose themselves
as 2 different sounds.
I'm left to suffer by
The harsh sound that
Silence makes
But you sit there
As if you cannot hear
It's screech

I see these hallucinations
And yet, you don't
I suffer from these delusions
And yet, you don't
I feel so socially isolated
And yet, you don't
I lose control of my emotions
And yet, you don't
Why is it that everything I do,
You don't?

I don't feel this world I live on
So you probably do
And maybe your right.
But who's to say
I'm not the one
Living in the real reality?
That your the one who's
"Not really living".
This must be the price I pay
For being Schizophrenic