Broken Kaleidoscope

I feel stuck in circles,
no color left to see.
a broken kaleidoscope,
palpitating inside me.

Looking for hope,
my mind's worn sore.
He runs a marathon
on the lines of thought before.

They call me psychopathic,
how the hell are they so sure?
It's okay, I'm not alone,
my friends wait at home.

We talk about ghosts,
"It's in your head, you stupid," they say.
But I know what I've seen,
truth isn't that easy to explain.

I think it's okay
to not be okay,
and you shouldn't decay
your own fantasy.

It's nice here,
floating between space and earth,
you feel the world beneath you,
yet you're far above its dirt.

I feel surrounded
by every face I adore,
you can't have them all in real life,
but here, you're never poor.

This isn't a dream, my boy,
you're seeing with eyes open.
The ones that seem real,
are hollow tokens.

And those who aren't here with you,
they were the ones who were real.
Life isn't a reel,
but that's how schizo feels.