I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
I look and see all these normal people.
They smile and talk as if they know each other,
I mean really know.
But how can that be?
Aren’t you afraid of the dark in their minds,
The shadows the dance behind all of their eyes?
Doesn’t it scare you what they may think,
Of all of black ink dripping like blood from your fingers?
Maybe you don’t think about these things.
Maybe all these oddities are just symptoms to me,
And darkness pools just under my skin,
And I’m terrified by the thought of anyone breaking in.
Normal, why must you be so frightening?