deeper than a black hole.
tighter than a vice grip.
thicker than a morning mountain fog.
Debris flying, knocking me off course.
Where am I even headed?
The mirage, is it real?
I swear it's no different than the ground beneath my feet.
Am I wrong, to be scared?
Is it wrong, to be scared?
The cocktail of fear, makes it all so real,
blending together the truth and the lie.
Where do I step, and where do I leap?
Will I ever know the answer?
Should I ever know the answer?
What do I know?
Me, in here,
noticing the fear.
That me I know. That me is here.