There’s only asphalt to my feet but it leads me nowhere new. Just the same old faces. And stories I’ve heard a thousand times now seem like fairytales to me. Just the same old words.
There’s no place for me to go, I’d rather be nowhere, like living between these written lines in vast dimensions. Fuck off telling me about reality or schizophrenia, the truth about our sanity is that it’s a different kind of lunacy.
From time to time the asphalt meets my face and knocks me out again. Although my heart is blind to see it illuminates a path silently. My green eyes are much more than colorblind.
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