Pathetic Confession

I look at the person in the mirror.
I meet his gaze, observe his actions.
I stare until it all becomes clearer.
Look in his eyes and draw him nearer.

Is anyone sure what's right and real?
Can we really be sure about what we feel?
I look, so deep inside.
There are these feelings I just can't hide. 

Paranoia sets in, I start to lose my mind.
Head starts to spin, fear now more defined.
Palms are saturated by the anxiety.
I question things, including my sobriety.

Am I sure what's right and wrong?
Will I even try to stay strong?
Can I still look, really deep inside.
Stare at my truth. Push lies aside.

I can't control my feelings, suppress them.
I try to choke them, grasp them by the stem.
I want to refuse to let negativity emerge.
I will stop it, kill it, crucify the scourge.

Is anyone sure where our limits lie?
Are we certain the end is when we die?
I want to take a look, tell you what I see.
When I confront my fear, I will then be free.

I'm sick of living in this primal fear.

I'm not sure of what I see and what I hear.
So many morbid thoughts in my brain.
If it continues, I'll go insane.

This is my pathetic confession.
Death may be my morbid obsession.
We will never know, that's the decree.
But it's the uncertainty that's killing me.