Crazy

Do they hear all my thoughts,
the fucked up shit inside my head?
Are they aware of who i really am,
everything i plot when lying in my bed?

Are their plans as bad as mine,
so discretely twirled into a dark path of death?
Or do they wander the streets ignorant,
unaware of how easy it is to lose your last breath.

Maybe the strangers lurking are really after me,
is my world made up of paranoia?
Is it possible i myself am my worst enemy,
truth replaced by fantasy.

Have i finally lost my mind,
found myself in a place filled with abhore?
The darkest pit beneath my skull,
the once much different, happier core.

Maybe i am not the crazy one,
I mean at least I admit this feeling is abnormal.
Maybe my imaginations are not made up,
or maybe i'm doomed with a disorder that is eternal.