Illality

Reality is sick. Coughing, hacking its way around. Vision becomes blurry and with each blink the clock ticks away one more time. Five, ten, elven. And then three. The lamp begins to melt and the music starts to whisper in you ear. "Liar...liar...failure... eat a hot dog...." There is little sense left.
I begin to walk along a street. In each window there is something reminiscent of something I've already seen. First there is a stage. He is covered in gaudy lipstick, and has a crowd of people on and surrounding him. Each person is smiling very enthusiastically; some with staples to keep their miles stretched so wide, other have nails, some even are hammering the nails deeper in right as I walk by. The canned laughter is loud; the laugh track playing over and over and over again. I blink and the lipstick, violent stuff, melts off and the stage screams. We bleed together. It hurts. I walk toward the door. An apparition appears, only a little taller than me, darker skin, a monochromatic thin brown build . "You would be happier somewhere else." He says. "I don't think you really belong here." He looks. As I turn and continue down the sidewalk he thinks "I don't want you here." The music once again whispers, this time with an echo that spins into a cacophony "Don't want you here....don't want you here...don't want you here..." The emphasis changes every time. The stage and I continue to bleed together. I walk to the next window.
There is nothing but colors. Brushed by a Persian cat dipped in paint that rubbed up against the wall in delight, contentment and pride fill the wall with the reds and the perfect compliments further stroke the dignity with a soft green. Then a sublime yellow appears, and grins. A lovely grin. Brown ineptitude spins on madly with the lipstick, and a splash of yellow grin goes into the mix. I have a brown yellow red tail following me down the sidewalk. "Falter...you...don't want you here....grinning." And the world spins madly on.
Lastly I come to a turtle shell. I go in, it has nothing but mirrors. All warping in some way or another. Brown, red, and yellow. It begins to meld, and pushes me out of the millions of perspectives. I am staring at a turtle. A big, brown, red and yellow turtle. I am staring at a mirror.
I have too many ways to look at things, inside this shell. If I pull away from the world everything I've ever seen reflects back at me, all with me somewhere in it. None of it looks like it should. I can't decide which one is real. I can't decide what I should do.
Reality sneezes right onto a turtle with a sidewalk-long tail. I'm tired of getting that guys germs. I pull back inside myself, and all the mirrors have reality snot on them. I keep walking down the street.
The snail on my back says "Weee!"