A crooked mental state does not mean I am a delusional disaster: bound to crack and crumble on the bathroom floor.
Just because I see beauty where betrayal was born does not mean I am a sadist; and it does not mean I am sad.
Just because the chemicals in my head have altered, does not mean I belong where the unsteady go.
Please understand the reasoning for my absence?
The uncanny resemblance my nightmares have to reality, lead me to believe this is all just one big paradox.
But.
Despite the shift in my hippocampus, I am not insane: I'm the same me I have always been.
