Unfamiliar, not strange

The taste of white smoke
and the sound of black noise
can drive a person insane.

Not me. No, not me.
I live in the cracks in the wall
that separates you from yourself.
I thrive there.
White smoke is what I breathe
And black noise is what I hear.
What I listen to.
What I choose to listen to.

Is it too unfamiliar for you?
Is it too strange?
I'm sure it's unfamiliar,
I'm sure it's not strange.

The sound of your hopes crashing,
the sight of your own crystal ball.
Unfamiliar, not strange.

Never strange.