and i wonder once again

will anything ever touch me?

have i grown so accustomed to this inner world

that i have grown estranged to the outer one?

as if every unseeable, untouchable molecule inside of me

is more tangible

than anything outside my skin

as if every ghost of imagination

is more real, more feeling

than anyone i meet otherwise

a sensitivity split

have i lost my mind

or lost myself to my mind

or is it one and the same?

i may never know


i can never be sure of my own answer



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