i was drawn up on a piece of paper and tossed in the breeze. surrounding lives resound voiceless breaths of the windpipe of a lover
i have never met.
why else would people stare straight through me, gloomy glances from my paper pupils into angels eye sockets,
and they think that i'm human and they think that i'm like them and they think beautiful thoughts on rainy days while im stuck.
eyes manifest imagination into each person's planet but not me, what i see reflects back and all i can do is be what i believe i see.
in san i ty is ta king its
toll on me and i
don't know how much longer it's gonna be before i gotta gasp for breath.
people worry when i rant, but they don't get it people fall in love with people
how could anyone love me if i don't see a person when i look in the mirror.
shadow-whispers sing to me and cloak me in black cloth and when they took the cloth off...
i hate linear equations and computations and numbers because people love numbers
linear thought blitzes right through me because
i am a contradiction
chaotic enough to be a hurricane stuck in the body of a person.