December Bee.

There’s a part of my brain
That likes to entertain
The notion that I am the same
As everyone else,
And that it’s all OK;
None of us are really sane
And it’s all one big game
Of pretend.

We’re playing at normality;
So then it’s not just me,
Who looks around and cannot see
Any semblance of Reality

December Bee
December Bee…

But then I stop, and I think,
“What if I am insane?”
(There’s a pleasure in this pain…)
Maybe the world is not so strange;
It’s all just inside my brain;

This hollow, aching, fucked up hell
Is not that which outwards dwells…

I hope all will be well.