Left Alone

When people aren’t around to shoot me down, I can wander through my thoughts. Like shattered mirrors, I catch glimpses of the multitude of perspectives within another infinite system. I follow the patterns and listen to the voices. Sometimes it can be hell, but it’s addictive. How can I tell what’s real? The chattered screams and broken whimpers crawl through my ears like spiders crawl through windows. Eerily sending shivers down my spine. Hallucinations dancing in my room that feel so real; it’s nearly impossible to watch them disappear. The absence of loving voices and the presence of self loathing. An ode to the dangers of isolation. Everything that felt good begins to rot away, and I’m left without a solid foundation. Unstable.