escape comes in many forms, + i can't control a lot of them.

0. my Self moves without first informing me -

myself is not a sentient

but a cloud-shredded

hallucination an observer.

my mind feels like something i can't control. it's like living inside a bubble, watching from afar as my body does things on its own. it's like being a puppet, controlled by an Overseer, whose hands move me to its very whims.

i'm a mere speck of dust, lost in a maze, never knowing what to do with myself. i fall asleep in the living room sofa, + wake in the middle of the street.

00. a repetition:

to pace without a sense

entranced.

with a field of fog obscuring my vision, nothing is real. to pass myself in the hallway, blind to the face staring back at me. with a shroud of plastic over my eyes, i live in a dream. to study the empty streets, drawn imperfectly by the hand that moves me. time passes, somehow, leaving me behind - feet that pace beneath me, feet which aren't familiar to me.

000. my Self observes its utopian state

imagined &

hallucinogenic.

my Self questions identity

a discontentment &

an entity perceived by

unconscious beings.

i've been told i look a certain way, (but i don't know myself).

i'm speaking. strange words that erupt from my mouth + don't sound like me. at times i believe myself to be a shadow, imperceptible by those who do not know me. at times i am imperceptible by those who do.

on the best of days, i don't exist outside of my own head. on the worst days, i don't exist at all. i can see memories that don't belong to me - pushing through a cloud that pushes back on me.

0000. myself does not exist outside

its illusory universe.

myself does not appear when i

look in the mirror.

i've lived a thousand different lives, + exist in a thousand different ways. inside the heads of others, i'm a martyr, a bully, a regret. inside the head of my Self, i'm a very old soul.

when it rains, old lives flood my eyes - lives that were mine, long forgotten by rebirths. at times i believe nothing exists at all.

when it rains, i see my reflection in the puddles, + it doesn't look like me.

00000. a trick of the mind:

to see without perceiving

words are not words

my mind feels like something i can't control. it's like living behind a pane of bubble wrap, glazing over my surroundings as they disappear behind the clouds. it's like leaving my body, letting it continue to move on its own.

i'm a mere drop of water, drowning in the dirt piles that swallow me. i fall asleep on the back seat on the plane + wake in a different lifetime. i dream of myself, blooming into a flower from an unsteady bud.

0000000. my Self lives its life separate from me -

myself exists only inside a dream