i can't even remember

what's normal anyway.
what's sobre and high,
sobre and drunk
what if we are somewhere else.
when we take the drug we really become sobre,
and we are high our entire life.
Everything is inside out.

we're living on a high
and we're always awake.

what if we were in a shoebox.
and everyone can see in, looking at us.
we can invite them..
And there are polka dots on the walls.
worms coming from the corners. sometimes when you see these it makes funnny noises. and the smells
it smells like rum and soap.
rum and soap.


we are just batteries.
and we need a recharge.
when we get tired from school, work, everything.

But I could be anything
sad or nervous.
happy or angry.

but one emotion could be another.
who makes it up?

Where does this all come from?
these words. and these emotions we're told to feel. I could say I'm happy but it really could be sad, and maybe it's just that I am imaginary.
It's not even real and neither are the walls in front of us.

what even makes us who we are. style?
I can't answer anything.
bed would be nice.

An ending would be nice.