i have an obsession with disappearing.
this obsession grips me by its roots,
holding me down and suffocating me with its imperial screams and persuasive devices.
i do not exist.
the skin on my body is not real,
the muscles the sinew the bone
all of these thoughts in my head
are void of reality.
sometimes i can feel my invisibility
in that moment when i am see-through.
if you reached out to touch me,
your hand would go right through.
nothingness.
a dream stuck in an endless cycle.
smoke and mirrors and glass cages.
in the haze of my sanity i can at least make clear
that it's not reality that's fading:
it's me.
