She Tells Me I'm Crazy...

My past...
Is it my own?
Do I belong in these memories?
Are they memories at all?
Or are they fragmented figments of pure imagination?
Nobody knows...
I surely don't...
She tells me I'm crazy...
I didn't imagine these bruises...
I'm not violent...
I wouldn't attack them...
I love... I love them...
I fight with my brain to tell me the truth...
It's feeding me memories without any proof...
Did I raise a fist?
Did I hold the bat?
She tells me I'm crazy...
I didn't imagine that fear...
She backed me into a corner, nowhere to run...
I know this is true... Isn't it?
Questionable memories with questionable roots...
She tells me I'm crazy...
I didn't imagine the truth...
The truth is in my memories... right?
She can't be the victim. Look at her smile...
Meanwhile, I sit here, soaked in my tears...
She tells me I'm crazy...
She tells me I'm crazy...
She tells me I'm crazy...
Maybe... I am...