I am here, I'm numb. I used to see bright colors, flying through my window, segmented by the wood. It was just a scary show of life performed by the death nature and the unreal. Was I supposed to know the difference? If I was awake or sleep, it made no sense. I would lay down on my bed, spending my days crawling in the dark. Now, look me in the eyes, tell me you're alive, tell me you're as bright as the particles floating through the glass.