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The sky is falling
Split crumble crack
The plaster on the ceiling is tired
The sky is falling the sky is falling
I have become dependent of my own little world
The beautiful dirt covered blue walls
They antagonize my psychotic notions
That as long as I don’t leave
Nothing else exists
That if I leave and then return
Nothing else matters
That I’m just as happy sobbing in a silent room
As I am wearing a smiley disguise in a chatty hip pub
But are these notions truly crazy?
What am I saying?
Maybe I have truly gone mad
Insane enough to question my own insanity
But does it matter
Weather delusional or not my thoughts are my own
If I can’t act upon the thoughts my own mind conceives
Then what’s the point of anything else I’ve ever done?
Nothing
There is no point
The sky is fallen but has it ever done me any good?
There are no birds in my sky
There is no sun
There are no stars
And there is no moon
I suppose it ought to fall
