I stood in middle of the well lit street, eyes gliding over the thick cast iron poles that stood periodically along the sides of the road blasting out cold light like menacing stars, glaring down and judging the world below. My mind reached out, exploring the crevasses of darkness, the places where nothing and everything can exist simultaneously, the places brave men fear, the unknown. I was standing in the unearthly glow of one of the distant street lights my hair matted and greasy, my face drooping with the weariness of far to many lonely nights. My once bright clothes were torn and battered hanging off of my pale flesh in rags, some dragging along the grimy black surface of the dark road. I felt peace in this reality, the dark dirty world in which I walked was home to me, I owned it. It was my one true possession, the greasy underbelly of my mind projected onto the blank surface of the universe. Never ending nothingness filled with my reality, brushing against the realities of others but never truly integrating with them. The people that decide it will better their lives to interact with me unknowningly smudge their perfectly sewn worlds with the palpable darkness of an existence as lonely as mine. I can see it in their eyes as my world sucks them down like a small bug trapped in a draining bathtub of dirty water, the panic as they realize far too late that they have stumble across something that no one wants to face but would much rather stuff into the dark closets in their mind. Sadness. Anger. Those emotions that send people spiraling into those irrational states death seems like a better option than attempting to deal with the overwhelming waves of emotion that threaten to crush their very soul. Everyone has a reality where their mind projects their very being on to the canvas of the world around them. those people that society describe as normal attempt to surround themselves with the brightest richest realities they can identify, resulting in an in an extremely plastic world of falseitudes.