He weeps at his own internal mess.
Internal dysfunction or plain pain of his life demis.
Paranoia cries with imaginary. He told it to leave, but it lingers.
Monsters eat at his brain, nibbling until his eyes rest.
Tears of pain burn his cheeks. His soul is on fire. No desires.
Eyes of worry, sights of flying clouds. When will it end?
Alone. Internally alone. Drugs. He wants drugs. Pain go away.
Branches. He wants them to take him. Puncture him.
Physical pain will settle his mind.
Paranoia. Flying gypsies. Crawling whispers flowing up to his nostrils.
His heart is full of love. His soul is full of fluttering butterflies.
Where is the laughter? Internal laughter.
Outer layers are fake.
One sip of his whiskey, one step out of the dark, the warm sun glitters his day.
8 hours is his only life. He is awake. He is aware.
Until he goes back into his dark cave.
Sounds of life, social laughs, grunts of disappointment, annoying remarks.
There he is succumbed by his own eye flickering. Sounds of life swirl into his ears drums as they puncture his senses. Overload.
He ignores the pain as yellow discharge swooshes out of his ears in an attempt to deal with the laughter.
Sights of life, kids dancing, couples kissing, family talking.
Beauty. He embraces it. He loves it yet the pumping blood in his body freezes his movement. He is frozen in time wanting to dance with laughter yet he is glued down.
He speaks in tongues, he has on his mask of delight.
Neighbors will never know the anxiety displayed in every cell of his body.