A Work of Fiction

I am honestly too scared and fragile to live in this world someone please take me out

I don't mean to sound down on myself because I truly do believe that I am a beautiful and amazing miracle of life and love, but at the same time ...what am I good for? What separates me from anyone else? I don't even feel like a cog in the machine I feel like the machine itself. As I write these thoughts down I do realize that they are probably just the result of the harsh values of an individualistic and capitalist society being ingrained in my mind but I still can't help but wonder how much truth there is behind it. Who am I to face the universe?

Laying on my back in a field, gazing up at the mighty trees embracing the empty space around the sun; I’m thinking about decomposing and how comforting it will feel to sink into the earth and combine forces and to return to the home from which I came.

I had a bad dream last night and I can't remember a single thing that happened but I keep recalling this strange feeling of dread. Who's to say it was a dream.

Fooled you all, I'm not even a real person. I am but an idea, floating in and out of your mind. Replace me with something real, set me free.