Morphing, altering, contorting, remolding the alignment of their skin cells every second of the day.
Appearing as glass cubes at one hour, embedding ambiguous perspectives into the people that refer to themselves as ‘sane’.
Brutally hinting that those embodying as glass cubes are the opposite when depending on the angle that you stand at to observe is what will determine the part of the electromagnetic spectrum you infer from.
This will either deprive you of understanding or bless you with the rainbow configured by the light that refracts off of their exteriors.
They are trapped within the glass cubes, constantly peering out at the ‘sane’ people, talking to other ‘sane’ people instead of silencing the fragments of their thoughts.
Next, they transfigure into the wheels that haul along carts at a theme park, continuously caught in a loop of experiencing excessive highs and deep lows.
Some days the clouds seem like a pathway to heaven, other days they are reminded of the precipitation that could fall and rust the metal that bears the weight of those ‘sane’ people.
Next, they alter into fragile candle holders specked with black soot dripping in desperation for the lit candle to burn out and stop the inferno that has blossomed within their souls.
At the bed of day, they fall into the form of pillows neglected from a resting head due to insomnia.
This is the life of a shapeshifter. The life of people with bipolar disorder; diving into structures of depression, mania, anxiety, and insomnia, constantly in an apprehensive state about the people who call themselves ‘sane’ and call them deranged.
When all this time the shapeshifters were contorting into useful objects for those ‘sane’ people to take advantage of.