Gutting The Fawn

Nothing is real. And all I want is something to be real. I'm so fucking terrified. I feel like a geode in an ocean of black ink and I'm not sinking. The sky is the colour of rainbow sorbet, but it begins to reflect the ocean. The black is leaches sucking up colours. But it makes no difference, the colours were as real as the blackness. My brain is a filter and it chooses what I prercive. My thoughs are laid out on a platter, as if I could not eat the ones I don't like the taste of, but that would be rude, and I am forced to eat them all. I eat my thoughts and take a step back and all of a sudden, nothing is real. I just want something to be fucking real.