the wheels correlate. over and over as my feet coerce their obeying circles.
and i am speaking with my mother about lines and dots and confusing things.
as i unmistakeleably loosing my easy mind.
and there it is.
my "personality", my soul, the soft heart i created begins to fade and flicker and
i am nothing.
chemicals singe and recreate something very real and i become the thing i feared
of homeless and rambling persons.
my vision recognizes no normal thing and dots on the ground become
terrifying.
and when i was two and five and seventeen never mattered.
because i am a thing.
that malfunctions at the sight and sound of environment.
i am afraid of dots on the ground and do not feel real.
what are dreams if i cannot differentiate them?
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