Take me home.

On one hand, the reality screamed faithlessness.

They smoked hash, and penetrated in the world within.

Like escaping reality, finding the truth, they called it.

Like the winds felt true, like truly the world knew.

On the other, I met my brother.

He was always in this world.

Like his reality was always true.

Engulfed within, science and universe exploding!

But they disapproved,

 reverse-drugged him,

gave him shocks to bring him back to what they believed was the truth.

The one they approve.

Who is to say,

 what is real?

Is it she who’s dreaming in hash of escaping within?

Or he, who lives within, and is being forced to be normal?

Who could ever define,

 Anything for that matter?

Even the definition of matter, is nothing but partial truth.

How much of what they say is ‘matter’, do you believe it actually is?

How am I to decide, who am I to choose to love?

The one who loves me back, unconditionally,

And cannot control himself?

Or the one who has always loved me, controlled me, and made me the human they wanted to see?

This brings me back

 to the yang part of reality.

The one that’s darker,

Faded, twisted and self-destructing.

Escaping seems like the exit,

Like, it could set me free.

But they told me there’s no freedom,

Not until you’ve fought it through.

Doesn’t the black hole

Take it all within and save the world?

Or isn’t the ever expanding universe

Throwing us farther away from each other?

How are we to choose?

 Which one is true or real?

Or aren’t these words ‘truth’ and ‘reality’,

Incomplete versions of everything we’ve ever wanted them to be.

The sound of my thoughts is much louder than my voice, much bigger than my head.
They break loose frolic around the room chanting the anthem of my doom.
-Unknown