You think I'm normal. You think I'm normal because you can't see anything obviously different about me. You think I'm normal because I can't tell you that within my thoughts I am a prisoner. There are no tears nor wails nor long looks into the distance when I'm looking at nothing really, just lost within my head because I am always careful to never let anyone see that. You think I'm normal because it is safer for me that you think that. Not for me the tinfoil hats and wild eyes of conspiracy theorists, Rather the jokes and smiles of the affable cynic. The wolfish grin, (but you do know that "they" control our thoughts, right?) You cannot be trusted with the thousand voices screaming, The flames, the blood, the depravity rampant in the war torn streets that make up the geography in my head that I must never say a word of Because you think I'm normal. Because you think i'm normal, I dress and act normally. I rarely look anyone in the eye and never for too long - that's normal. But it's really because I think that somehow you can see my thoughts behind my eyes and know of the utter piece of shit that I really am and I can never speak openly about it. If you think I'm normal then it is normal to live in fear each day. Normal to feel so wretched and twisted that self harm makes logical sense. Normal to run, to hide. Normal to rage and to hate for no reason over the slightest thing while other, more damning issues are left unchallenged, allowed to run riot in my head whilst I never let it out. You think I'm normal? Try to hold my gaze for more than 5 seconds. The thousand yard stare keeps me alone. You think I'm normal? I wish I could make you see that I'm not - that if this is normal then humanity would have died millennia ago, that there's only one part of survival that I must never mention again. Because you think I'm normal it is not safe for me to say these things to you. Not safe to be anything other than the normal that you think I am. I have to keep you protected from the me that's in my head. So I joke and smile and laugh until normality itself because the norm, no indication that in my head I see spears and swords and fire, open wounds pouring offal and shite and venom onto the blessed earth whilst the voices of maniacal angels whisper such secrets in my ears that I never speak. You think I'm normal. I think I'm alone.