I cry through my skin.

 You know those moments? The ones where you're so alone and you know just how big the world is, but how empty it is as well? The moments where you want to touch someone, just to be sure that you're still alive and still real. It's a feeling where you can hear your thoughts echoing in the stillness, your heartbeats seem so far apart and each one sounds like a bomb intruding in your world of quiet but you almost welcome the earth shattering noise just because it's something that seems like it could possiably be outside of you which means there has to be something else in this world besides yourself. Do you ever doubt your existance? Ever wonder if you're just a dream, a thought, a robot, an alien, or even a memory? You hear your thoughts...So you know you're real...But what if your thoughts are only an echo of what you were supossed to think when this really happened? Or everyone can hear them and you're the only one stupid enough to react? But then again, in the world of alone how can thoughts be anything but? Therefore you are real, but you're the only real thing in the world. But then, wouldn't it be better to be fake so that you're no longer alone? I don't know...I'm rambling...Trying to prove that I'm more than just words on a computer screen in someone's bedroom as they read my idiotic thoughts and they know me...But they know me as text and not as a person. So to them, I'm not real. But if I'm not real to them, or to anyone, than am I real in this world at all? If the answer is yes...How? How does one know that one is real if they aren't real to anything but oneself? I'm not even real to myself...I watch myself laugh, talk, flirt, and live but it's as if I'm not there. I feel nothing as I'm doing any of this...Except sometimes...I feel a despretness of sorts. Like I just need someone to see me, to feel me, to make me real. And as I watch myself talk to them, I'm screaming for them to tell me that they can see me and I'm sitting right beside them, and I'm speaking in words that they understand. I kind of feel like I'm going crazy. This is a somewhat scary mood. But that's just it...Isn't it? It's a mood. And then I'll go out, and I'll watch myself as I flirt and talk and laugh. And I'll watch myself start to deterioate, and the life start to drain from me again as I go back into my safe abyss of depression. I'll watch the people who I begged to make me real, puzzle over me but then slowly move away so they don't get sucked into the world of alone too. Even if there was someone right beside me as I reside in my world, I couldn't feel them or see them and I wouldn't be able to hear them. The world of alone isn't real, so nothing inside it is real. And since I'm inside it, I'm not real. Which means everyone was right...My pain, my tears, my cutting, none of it is real. And now I have to watch myself crumble, because I can't hear myself screaming to get away before it gets you too. So soon I'll have the rest of me in the world of alone, and there will be no trace of what I thought was my life because it was all only a dream.