What it feels like is not fun
I never thought I would be here
Where I am- not in my body.
It is an image that represses and oppresses
functionality and decisions.
I find that I am not happy anymore
And I’ve come to understand now that the
bug bit me.
I first lose my mind…then taste…then a huggable feeling- that I am asking for so much more.
Because it feels like it’s dying.
But I can see it, I am here,
but Scribbles like to live inside my nerves
like I don’t matter.
And it aches when I wake,
it scares the fear to death
and death to life, what is mine?
Little do they know outside as inside.
Seems like I don’t exists anyway because I watch all
work it out.
As I question, pretending to the truth.
And so did I for that long long lifetime.
I do not make sense, and people like us never do.
So little know.
But most is silent.