My Heart is the Eye of Jupiter

I am twenty four.

I am an engineer.

I can be compassionate.

I lived a happy childhood.

I grew up in a loving family.

I can be very emotionally manipulative.

I might be in love, but I don’t really know what love is supposed to feel like.

I sometimes get mood swings.

Sometimes, I want to die.

I don’t feel guilt or remorse, but most of the time, I’m conscientious in the way I treat people.

I doubt my level of empathy sometimes.

My friends can never tell when I’m serious or joking. Sometimes, neither can I.

Every time I dream, my dream self always has a different personality.

I might not be in love, but if I’m not, then I have never felt any kind of love before.

I may be capable of anything, but I don’t know if I’d do it.

I don’t know the difference between my mask of sanity or my real face.

I might be capable of anything, but I don’t know how far or in what direction my personality dictates I should go.

I don’t know who I really am. Am I really the psychopath I feel like sometimes, or the well spoken, compassionate man I try to be (or at least, to look like)?

Is the appearance of an emotion as good as feeling an emotion? Does anyone really know the difference?

My mind is a shifting desert. I fit into any mould, but I don’t remember my original shape.