What am I really?
Flesh and Bones hinged together
Strips of tissue wrapped together; binging the pieces together to make the [w]hole.
Shell, support, foundation--and the messy in-between.
Sometimes my hands drift away, floating like bricks of numbness
Sometimes I look into my eyes and question if I’m really there?
What is this “I” that seems to be dancing in the limbo realm of physical existence and spiritual presence?
Sensation confuse me. Reality unclear.

I lay in bed at night, eyes sealed yet my conscious off-switch doesn’t work
My body-the body- in my? bed. bed feels large and small, near and far.
At times I’m walking in a world so miniature- I fear movement will break it
Sometimes I dissolve; pixilate; evaporate; and can’t quite touch things.
This happens at night, when distraction disappears.
Sensations confuse me.

Last night I drifted to sleep in orgasmic relaxation.
Connected to pleasure, grinning in admiration.
But I snapped awake-dazing at the floating object
It wasn’t floating-I was holding it. But I wasn’t.
But I was.
I forced my hand into the air, but still the capsule spun unreachably close.
It disappeared.
Stumble to the bathroom-pee break- attempt to slip away again.
Forget the capsule. It was just a real dream.
Sensations so real. I confuse myself.

There are moments when my presence is too much.
Thoughts get tangled up and start to terrorize me.
The thoughts race inside; I claw at the outside.
SLOW DOWN. please slow down she cried to the faceless driver.
Feel... to stop them, I need to find myself.
It’s like something takes over. I breath in and feed the destruction.
Flesh and food. Destruction tastes of potent relief.
It stopped. I stopped.

It’s like all of me exploded into impulsive pieces-lacking restraint.
The release; the numb was predicted.
Maliciously, sadistically welcomed.
And now order returns.
Sensations clear. Reality bearable, yet tentative.

Sometimes I am whole..no,
Sometimes I pretend to be [w]hole.
I want to be filled. Retrained. Transformed.

I loose touch, Slip from control.
Destructive paths rip up the scar tissue.
I scratch the wound. Pour salt in it. Smile in ecstasy.
Privately cry in defeat.

And then I wrap myself up.
Stab the pieces, string them together.
Slow the process. Bring it back to HERE.

I’m tired.
And I just learned how to sew.