Internal Monologue I'm masquerading. Nobody else can see it, they don't realise there's a crocodile on their midst. It's obvious though, in so many ways I am screaming at the top of my lungs just how different I am, I am honestly surprised its taken this long for anyone to notice. The phrase Crocodile Tears has never been truer. Not once, through the panic attacks and the shaking and the the shouting at my mirror, have I ever cried. I daresay that is proof enough that I'm not wired properly. Biology says I am made of muscle and sinew but I just can't make it add up. Cells are not malicious, the lump of grey residing behind my eyes surely can't be responsible for the thoughts it thinks. No, somewhere I must have a few extra parts; nettles in my throat and stones in the pit of my stomach and perhaps even nightshade in my veins. That's the only explanation. I am a changeling child and I am self destructing in plain sight. Not crying though, that's a luxury I do not deserve.