If I drink the yellow paint like Van Gogh did, will I be happy?
If I close my eyes and just listen, will I truly see?
If I cut myself out, can you really see who I am and not judge me?
If I sacrifice myself for the many, will you even recognize my death?
If I do all those things, will things be any different?
Paranoia hits me.
It hits me any night I start to doubt.
I'm not sure if it eats me inside and out,
Or luring me to sacrifice myself for a feast.
Because the night is dull, and cold.
And I am full of terrors.