Dark hair is swept

Around your soft eyes of blue

How can they tell me

This love isn't true

Psychologists will analyze

The way I talk and you listen

Drugs are later then prescribed

To convince me you'd never existed

Schizophrenia means nothing to me

I don't believe in fantasies

What's wrong with MY reality

If that's what makes me happy?

After years of therapy

I desperately try to find

You; now a splotchy painted picture

In the background of my mind

I promise I'm not crazy

Still they've cost me my best friend

Now isolated from the world

I wait for the nightmare to end

A/N: Hey, thanks for reading! I know this poem has a weird name, but I named it "Bubbles" because this was a poem written in my creative writing class that took a long process of finding inspiration. The first step of that process was to blow bubbles…right there…in the middle of class. It was pretty fun, though. Hope you guys enjoy!