green apple.

Soaked to the skin, getting drunk on hard cider,
So brown and reclusive I'm nearly the spider.
Sitting in wait for the phone to vibrate,
while watching the visions my brain can create.
Am I the alien? Am I otherkin?
Am I made for drowning in this "sink or swim?"
Are you protective? Can you be real?
Am I the only one in this who truly can feel?
Is this reality? Is this my fate?
Am I a sellout? Am I just bait?
Am I the wizard? Can I see shades?
Is my worth really measured by preposterous grades?
Are my hands really scarred, or am I seeing things?
Am I afraid of tomorrow or perhaps what it brings?
Do I want to hold you, or is that a lie?
If I got up the courage, would I really want to try?
I can't pull the answers just out of thin air,
so I'll sit here and drink; fuck it, I don't care.