Some days I just sit here wondering the purpose of my reality. Daunting. I grow tired when I've already been tired all this time.
I look out the window but I don't see anyone anymore. The sun burns my eyes even when the shades are drawn. I do not regret, but I hold contempt.
Reality and fantasy mingle before my eyes. Some days as I sit here, I think my father will call me and maybe say he never meant the things he said. Maybe next year.
As I leave my home, I slip behind a mask or two. I'm nervous and I drown my fear in foolery and infantile glee. The people I work with don't know me. They know another me that isn't even truly a thing.
Some days I just sit here wondering what the purpose of their reality is. So many people. Is it wrong to consider most of them wasted potential? How useless is the knowledge handed down to them?
I look out the window and I see them again but I don't like what I see. Maybe I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection. Some days I just sit here wondering. is this my reality?