I stare at my four walls,
if there was a speech bubble where would it fall?
Sometimes I think I am a cartoon character on TV
waiting for the script to become the real me.
sometimes the world steals my ideas
sometimes I cant grasp reality from my fears
tears form to loneliness of which we were born
it’s the storm the monologue which yearns to escape us
the people who berate us, or hate us probably are jealous
of our strangeness.
By Daniel Hooks