The window

I often wonder how society sees me
How they see those like me

I often wonder about those like me
I wonder if they exist

I begin to wonder about existence
Who do I trust to show me the truth

I often wonder about truth
How often do I deny myself such a thing

Who can I trust?
I cannot trust society.

Who can I trust?
I cannot trust an authority figure for they are a part of society!

It often makes me laugh, although people do not see it as humorous
When I speak of distrust and cynicism, and the choices I've made

Suddenly, I become void of all things effective.
Nothing can penetrate my mind.

And while they stab at me with their lances and their daggers
I watch while they struggle.

I touch the window that separates my mind and the physical world.
It may not be earth, nor may it be heaven, nor hell, not even purgatory.

But it's the dimension I perceive, what I see, and how I decide to see it.
The window itself is cold.

The glass is old, and shakes within the pane, whenever the wind blows.
Outside is an endless blizzard, and it's freezing, unforgiving, merciless.

Within my mind I am glad, look at all those people, outside in the storm.
In here I am safe, separated from them, until the glass breaks and I am flooded in ignorance.

And while they nail my starved body to my own crucifix, I am watching.
And I am slowly drawing the drapes across this cold glass, and all the people on the other side.

They're gone.