I’m less than that of the sane.


If this message was meant to carry to you

It could still be found in another.

Perhaps you can meet the same man in someone else.


It’s hard to isolate an introvert

But in the summer I have breathed out mist,

Smelled only tar in my nostrils; no flowers.


The world is becoming more alien every day.

Pushed to ask my reflection, “Am I dead?”

Because it is all seeming less rational

And accepting my mortality is easier than accepting

This is all just a lucid dream.


The world is green, covered in vined tree trunks.

Sometimes my eyes reflect their own color in my vision

And clog the lenses with iris.


Breathing out bark I can feel the age of my body

The height of my gait,

The mass of my legs as I move,

Coughing up…

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