It's not a typical day when you wonder into your own imagination, and find exactly where insanity and reality are divided. It's not fate that I can simply sit here, with my hands making love to a rectangle full of little black keys. This was the only possible way to become one with the things around me. I picked a star to wish upon for each of you, watching the images in my head when I closed my eyes.
As a child I subsided to their warnings. "Don't damn yourself little girl, don't you ever try to run away." They always tried to preach to me. But only when you find your true self do you realize the answers to all those little pesky questions and useless preaching's. It's not luck that you stumble across your soul and decide it's best that you pour it out to those around you. A typical "hello" should be molded into a beautiful conversation.
I still hear them whispering "Forgive her, she knows not the way to behave," as I sat before them and felt all their bitter stares. What's wrong with questioning things? I've only done what I see fit. I am not a slave to society, and I chose to be crucified for it, rather than give in to their world molded of a false truth. I would die just to let them know how I feel. So in silence I confess everything before them, baring my soul and my little tattered notebook.
They shall know of my sins before I go, and I refuse to go silently, for I am the reason they hold their ears. Never afraid to speak my mind, and now I see why its always been so "hush, hush." They are too scared to listen. Frightened that I might find out the truth. No, I won't give in to their bullshit convictions, their stares only scanning me, they'll never see inside. I am not the broken heart they see me as.
Just what is it they think is so wrong? My thoughts unstable now. I am so young and useless, I mean no harm. I only day dream and create a world better than the one I am living in now. This false reality is my only comfort. I'm satisfied with my self created insanity. They still manage to loath me for my thoughts. I am being punished for my hope, and I don't like it.
"I will make it out of this alive. They'll all suffer for this." I scribble in unbalanced and shaky letters. One by one I piece out their futures. "Now they shall have a reason to hate me." I quickly turn the page in fear that they'll see. Now I see why they don't understand me. The stars in my eyes become all too bitter, now I see why they hate. They fear the power of a young mind. An unbalanced soul ready to merge with insanity. The glass room they've stuck me in meant to protect me is cracking beneath my feet. The shards of glass will be the death of them all. And to think, just hours before I was wishing on stars to save them all. So this is what reality holds?