Paranoia

A figment of my imagination is what it is .

Something easy to believe,

But every little marker points in its direction

All it is, is deceit.

This paranoia, as you call it,

Is the cold hard truth.

Something too hard for you to swallow,

Easier to mask as a cliche and bury it deep.

I hope the poison was worth it,

A nectar so sweet.

That you'd rather be in a false bliss

And walk with the sheep.

If it helps, I'll be waiting,

For when you choose to go astray.

We can walk on thorns together,

This road will not betray.