To My Wayward Sons (Supernatural Poetry)

Distorted Reality

With the wall torn down in my head

Everything begins to spiral into red

It isn't just some measly flashbacks

I'm starting to see through the cracks

.

Visions bleeding through, so realistic

Am I alive, or am I still in hell's cage?

Hallucinations of torture surrealistic

Making me paranoid, jumpy, scared

.

And now Lucifer has popped up

Telling me this is all but a dream

That I'm captive, and I'm his bitch

This is torture to make me scream

.

I am having a very difficult time

Figuring out what's real and not

Did I truly never left Hell after all?

Am I stuck within its pits to rot?

.

But Dean has too much on his plate

And I don't want to worry him worse

I'll keep my mouth shut, time being

Perhaps sooner or later I'll be cured

.

You can't torture someone who

Has nothing left for you to take away

And it had to be a mess Sam, or you

Wouldn't believe it was your life, he says

.

I'm being spun around in circles

I can't even be trusted by Dean

Lucifer's messing up my sanity

It's all unravelling at the seams

.

They think I'm the kind of crazy

That can't ever be fixed anymore

I'm starting to believe it, maybe

There will never be a possible cure

.

There's only one way to figure all of it out

But I can't be a liability, no, not right now

The pain reminds me that I'm really here

I believe my brother. This is real. I am real.