Theres two of us here
Or maybe three
I don’t know anymore
I stopped knowing a long time ago.

Or was it recent.
But it doesn’t matter because theres not just one.
Thats bad.
Right?

But I was lonely before.
Sort of.
But now I’m not.
Because theres three of us.

Or maybe just two.
I don’t know anymore.
I’m not sure how many fronts I need.
Each new one just shreds apart who I am.

Each one is incomplete.
Like me.
Torn apart, pieces missing.
But the breaks aren’t even.

The pieces can’t be put back together like a puzzle.
The edges are too frayed and torn.
Too Uneven.
Too Ugly.