?

I sit.
In a seat.
Tortured every day.
But, who tortures me?
I am not sure.
Not completely, at least.
But I have an idea.
Is it God?
He put me in this world.
He gave me this life.
He made me who I am.
But he is good. What does that even mean?
I am not sure.
But I don't think it is God.
Is it the Masses?
They shift my opinions.
They change my ideas.
They develop my social ineptitude.
They mock. They scorn.
They befriend.
But I don't think it is the Masses.
Is it the Girl?
She is perfection embodied.
She is just out of reach.
She unknowingly hits my deepest chords.
She just might be the one.
But who am I to say such a thing?
Perfection and Insanity don't go together. Or do they?
She is there, everyday, a witness.
But I don't think it is the Girl.
I don't think it is God.
Nor the masses.
Nor the girl.
The only one it can be...is me.
For I am me.
And that is all.