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Things are getting more bizarre
I never imagined artistry to be such a rabbit hole
But I've ripped it open myself
And now there's no choice but for me to dive further

I am not looking out of the same eyes that I used to
The world is not scary
I do not hear with the same ears that I once did
The world is far away

You should see what the air looks like here
It is like a fine mist that glosses over everything I touch
It is a fog you cannot outrun

I make my home in a photograph
The further I pull myself in, the more secure I feel
By the foreground, I drag my body into frame
The trick is thinking hard and squeezing into a ball
(the gravity is different here, and if you are not careful, you will tear apart and splatter across the world like ink across a poorly developed photo)
I reach further, helping myself towards the next level
I enjoy being out of sight, but sometimes, it is scary
The deeper I go, the fainter the colours
Eventually, I always find gray
It is in the corners, behind the reaches of the eye
This is where I hide
Behind every wall, through every door, I find rotting beams and old scaffolding
The infrastructure never creaks or moans but I fear it may collapse any day
After all, this is a ghost town
It may soon cease to exist altogether

I live in a memory that will never be fully revisited
I live in an emotion that has already been felt
It is passed over
It is past

Am I stuck here?
When I press myself up to the foreground, I see other worlds, and sometimes feel alone
There is so much more out there, but much of it seems the same as what I have here
Each photograph is different, but has the same sad shape
And I've at least made peace with the demons here
I will die here, or, at the very least, there is little reason to suspect otherwise
And if I were to migrate into another world, it would accomplish little

I have known for far too long
That to die alone is simply to die

I used to practice
I thought it noble to leave on my own terms
These days, I am too tired for it to matter
No one else seems to object

I live alone in my photograph, but there are others here
Naturally, they never move
Sometimes, when I am weary, it looks like they come to life
The expressions on their faces never change, but they murmur to each other about the strange being sulking around among them
Sometimes, when I am downright exhausted, they speak to me
They don't always realize I am an outsider, but this only makes me feel more foreign
They are both figuratively and literally transparent
It does not go over well whenever I observe this aloud
They ignore me again when I awake

One girl is less (figuratively) transparent than the rest
She is more (literally) transparent than the rest
I often fancy a love story with this one
She doesn't ignore me when I am awake

I am scared of so much
I fear to the point where being afraid simply describes me

Every night as I close my eyes, I imagine never awaking
It is (frighteningly) simple to do
Maybe the picture people would hold a service
Quite positively, they would be unaffected

It sometimes upsets me that there is nothing I can do to leave a lasting impact on these people
It often upsets me that, were I to leave an impact, it would be meaningless to the world
It constantly upsets me that the world is meaningless itself

There are simply too many other photographs