self portraits


I pull my lip.

once everything went dark.

if you look real close, we’re all made out of dots.

an immense fear of being stark raving mad.

that time I was a wanted rebel in the sixties.

I just really want to feel like myself.

I pull my eyes down.

possibly trying to prove I exist.

a journey of discovery, ahead.

I keep forgotten objects.

I see myself, in a different universe.

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