My Mind Is A Prison

You know sometimes you get to a point where,

Everything is actually okay.

Your happy and productive,

Doing things you like to do

And your comfortable in your own skin.

Then you come crashing down again,

Seemingly harder then you did before

When you actually had a reason to be sad.

Your skin begins to stretch like cold rubber

You feel yourself wanting to crawl out of your chest

With thousands of butterflies on fire

Setting a forest fire in your rib cage you can't stop.

You feel out of your body looking down on yourself

Not even noticing when the suicidal thoughts hit.

People talk to you and all you can feel is

The blur of a paint brush casting black and white

Upon a vision that was once in full color.

The voices become louder and louder

It's an opera of instruments screeching

Nobody can hear but me.

Then you wonder,

When did I become a passenger in the back seat When I should be in control of my life?

Now your stuck simply existing,

Going through the motions.

Feeling nothing until they all come at once,

Intruding like a game of angels racing,

Devils dominating in this internal battle

You don't even know what side you're on.

Everyday you fight this battle,

Trying to fix what is wrong,

Figuring out what pipe burst this time,

What has become rust sending you

To fix, fix, and fix what's haunting you

As sadness drips off the pipes

Sending everything in this dysfunctional house

To a massive flood when it all breaks overtime

And you don't even know what's wrong.

But you can't fix what's wrong

Because there's nothing that is really wrong,

It's just not right.

It's a side of perfection you can't soothe,

And a prison you can't escape.