Where is me.

He sits alone in a dim room, calming music fills the room as he watches a world, another world living and breathing in the emptiness of space. This is me. He stands in an empty field, alone feeling the soul of the wind and the earth flow through him. This is me. He enters the world of the music, watching the vibrations in the form of colors and shapes in his mind. Feeling a story unravel in the sounds without words. This is me. He looks into the blank screen of a computer, conjuring other worlds to express himself to others. This is me. He sits, frustrated that his inspiration has left him. This is me. He wonders about the prison of his mind, fighting against the thoughts and troubles in life. This is me. He is angry, with no outlet to conduct besides the walls. This is me. His heart barley holding up, his fists, hurt and red.... he is left wanting more. This is me. He let's himself become distracted so he will forget his anger and his pain. This is me. He smiles as the distress sits ignored. This is not me. He cries without reason and presses the pedal to the floor feeling his heart race, no longer caring about life. This is not me. He realised the roar of the engine could one day of even then, be the sound of his death. This is not me. He resumes his day, again forgetting the extremes his mind wonders to. This is not me. He is blank, mind fuzzy and congested. He doesn't know what to do or what to say. He doesn't know if what is happening to him needs to stop or needs to be delt with and endured. This is not me. He again questions what is life. This is my false peace.