Anchored to my ship.

Lunacy. Wholesale at the fingertips of invisible giants. Foreboding and magical it may seem, when everything around you was put there by your own thoughts. Seeing is believing after all. What we can't believe is the fact that most of us forget who we are, what we have become, and where we are heading. I can't explain it, but you know what I am talking about. Divided by the givers, the creators, and the producers. I can stay anchored to my ship if I remember who I really am, and that is nobody. I am a nobody. I choose to be a figment of your imagination, I choose to blend in with the crowd to give off the illusion that I do not actually exist. We are all trapped in a dimension of surrealism and intrigue, never hesitant to jump onto the new craze that was deployed to keep the blind and the weak from waking up to the truth. Whitewashing, blackfacing, identifying and criticizing, but where does that lead us? Full circle to our own mistakes and insecurities. One day you happen upon a billboard. It shows you your own thoughts. It tells you what you want to have, what you lust for, and all you can do is stare in awe at the probability of it even registering your own thoughts. At that point you have to ask, was it really an original thought, or was I being trespassed mentally, and emotionally? Whatever the truth is, it will never fully satisfy us. I AM anchored to my ship, but this ship is sinking, and I cannot escape.