i find myself in this place again, unmoving and dull.
it's not so much that i'm comfortable--on the contrary,
i feel as if i'm a stranger in my own skin. things seems to
move forward and on with vigor, and i'm here like a ghost,
a flower on the wall, living inside myself, trying to make
sense of these clipped and scrambled thoughts in my head.
every day's a new breath,
yet i'm asphyxiated.
i feel too much and
i feel nothing.