I wake up and I look at the ceiling. Immediately. I know I'm back in this world. The simulation. There is no way out. Going day to day like a scheduled artificial intelligence. Alot of times I question myself if I'm even alive or if this is all a game. Crazy is the name they gave me. Medicate me until I'm dizzy enough to conform. Sometimes I wish I wasn't born. The storm is too strong for me to bare it seems. Ripping at me and making me mean. My words written are like a blood vessel straining against the vein. Yet no one knows me. No one knows my feeling. No one cares to even look deeper and say hello, I'm real too. It's so lonely. I'm fighting to define the definition of human but humans always hurt me. I did not ask for my conscience. I rather feel nothing at all sometimes. Wouldn't that make it easier? I'm just a writer, floating with her curious soul. But...no one knows me. Only I know me. I think that's what scares me the most.