Why Me

Waking up, my life flashing before me, I am older than eighteen yet younger than thirty. My mind begins tearing away from my simplistic body, aching to be stroked by demons. I call to them, regrettably, without control. I see everything, oddly I see nothing. I feel helplessly in control, while firmly holding nothing. In the distance, translucent images of distant relatives appear screaming with disdain, smiling with grief, disappearing quickly without thought. I cry to them, wishing their voyage was my path. My arms held over my feet, calling to them as I mourn. I am a god like no other, I have the strength of many, sheepishly denying vibrant thoughts of floating devoutly on earth. When I awake, my eyes do not feel heavy as slumber would suggest, implicating the neverness of the thought. Screaming from the inside out, I am the only being who hears them scraping my outer soul. Angry demons near with intensity, tugging, pushing, pulling my moral code as I fight to stay coherent. Faintly, I see light as my eyes open without pause, most of what I see is trickery made into reality by my own fault. I lean on myself to adjust images from actuality to truth. I am me, and so am I.