If it wasn’t for my characters,
I would have given up long ago.
I can’t survive in your so-called “real world”.
Mine is the only one I know.
I don’t exist in “real life”.
I’m nobody there – no-one at all.
My characters live inside my mind,
and trust me with their lives – their secrets.
I know them.
I know almost no-one at all,
in so-called “real life”.
People only want to judge.
I don’t belong here at all.
Depression is closing in on me,
and most days, I can’t even write a thing -
but I won’t give up,
because I can’t.
Yet, I wish I could.
If all there was here was “real life”,
I know I would give up