Jesus, I wrote this one in July. It is weird to look at this and see already how my writing has changed in a few short months. 

Am I crazy because I want to breathe again?
To feel the expansion in my chest that signifies life.
An influx of fresh air to stagnant flesh
In order to finally clear my head.

Images brought in through watery eyes
to a brain filled with muddled thoughts.
I am hopeless. I am reckless. And I am a mess.
But have I ever really been any other way?

My whole life revolves around an image of what is not there.
An idea of what we think is important.
My better half begs for some sort of cathartic release.
While my other half keeps me down. 
To be seen, but rarely ever heard.

Is this insanity something new?
Or has it long been dormant?
Has it been developing over time?
Was it created in that single moment?

That one moment where everything I knew was shattered.
Everything I loved was gone.
Everything that I once needed just beyond my grasp.
That one moment where I had to look myself in the eye 
and bid my final farewell to a long lost friend.
The moment when I realized that the better half of myself had died.

My identity is crumbling.
The mask I wore to hide myself is no longer there.
True emotion finally stands at center stage.
Completely unfamiliar and foreign to the spotlight.

All this time I had been an actor.
Putting on a show before the crowd.
Playing a role to make them love me.
All the while losing myself.

How do I adapt to this new world
Where everything is portrayed in its true colors?
Having long been colorblind, I am overwhelmed by the display.
It is just too much to take in.