Synthetic.

I've grown tired of the hang-ups.
This blinking light tells me I'm missing something.
There's more here, if you would just listen.
I'm not used to the anticipation,
But the anxiety that comes with it, I know too well.
I tell myself I'm normal; I don't believe me.
I'm endlessly trying to convince myself
that the voice in my head is sincere.
He sounds malicious, he sounds conniving.
But what does he gain from my failures?
What does he have to benefit from my demise?
I don't understand his motives any more than I trust
my own.

Who is really pulling the strings here?
Who's clothes am I wearing tonight?
Dr. Jekyll, or Mr. Hyde?

I'm shackled by my own devices.
Kicked to the curb and hung up to dry.