"You're too pretty to be a psycho."
This, will forever be my favorite compliment.
This left the lips of my psych ward room mate from across the hall.
What isn't pretty about being a psycho?
Everything is kinda pretty. Kinda sparkly. Something to draw on. Something to wipe your mascara on. A shoulder to cry on, a wall to either punch, or collapse against.
Anything could be everything when you're a psycho. Closets full of monsters, serial killers waiting behind shower curtains, anything outside supposed 'reality.'
You see things that aren't there. You could say it's schizophrenia, but other people don't have the imagination to see it. What's so psychotic about that?
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
In that sense, we're all insane. Doing the same job, eating the same meals, attending the same classes, having a routine, yet we strive to be better and we all want more and more and more and we'll never be satisfied. That is true insanity.
But the constant hunger to create things that have never been done before, the shadows you confuse for people, because every single person on the planet could look at the sky right now and no one would see the galaxy like you do from where you're standing. And they lock you up because they can't see the view.
All I am is a reflection in a mirror.
I can't see me like you do and that's why I look at you like you're crazy. But maybe it's just my eyes.
So turn out the lights and now I'm just a voice. What do you see now?