Slip

This is how I crumble. Little pieces everywhere. Much too aware to feel anonymous. Things aren't fantastic. Reality has branched itself off into two separate pieces.

But things don't have to be real to exist. In fact sometimes the imagination is much richer than actuality.

Materialism has not ceased to amaze me. I am perpetually non-existent.

I want to feel the warmth of contact. You don't miss it until it's gone. You'd be surprised how cold people can get, left to themselves.

I am your beautiful case-study on everything exceptionally wrong.