I wonder if I really do live in my own little world, but no one really knows me there. I live in a little glass bubble, always looking out but no one seeing in. I'm just the one that doesn't see red the right way. When everyone looks at me, I am distorted and blurred, and they convince themselves that nothing is really there. Is it possible to be miserable when nothing is wrong? A constant state of hysteria, bursting into frantic fits of giggling, nothing is funny, no one around to hear. I can't even cry, only heave sigh after despondent sigh. Nothing is wrong, everything is. Waiting for something, to explode, to fade, to collapse, to fly away. Crawling out of my skin, except I keep getting stuck. I'd bleed, if I only had the nerve. I know I can fly, but my body is too heavy. Wallflower, wallflower, paper over me. Cover me in patterned camouflage, hide me underneath. Don't let anybody see the cracks, for no one likes ugly buildings. Shattered, patterned, no one buys a warped vase. But cover me in flowers, and paint me up a smile, tie my strings and lead me around, with my broken pretty face. Alone in my crowd of imaginary friends, my dreams of demon lovers and vicious magic violent company. Glazed over, hazed over, are you as cloudy as me? Except my cloud won't float away, just writhes and chokes, and chills, and kills. Empty shell, but a pretty Easter egg. Eggs are fragile, you know, drop them and they break. Delicate, but I'm not delicate, just clumsy, and ugly, ungraceful, and ungainly. So I'm the Ugly Duckling, when will I be a Swan? Push me down and push me around, I'm just a push-over, a pull-over, so easy to drag me down. Under-sedated, over-medicated, just don't care, can't care, can't hurt you if it doesn't matter, go ahead make all your plans, but you know they'll never work, they never do. Always waiting, for the big break, big chance, make a fool of yourself, everyone knows you will already. A failure, a flop, just get eaten, just give up, just give in, just give out, want to stop, want to sleep, want to dream, but dreams are nightmares and I never rest, just existing, just taking up space. Sorry, am I in your way? Let me move, would hate to inconvenience you. Nothing, no one, just a ghost in a shell, Ghost In the Shell, except there's no one to connect to. Isn't there a magic to make me belong, to make me believe? No, I suppose there's not.