I get crowded, at times. when I least expect it, I am overflowing with voices, faces, arms, legs and my heart, again in my throat, questioning my impulsive decisions. so I feel like a phony, I feel like I am lying to myself, I feel like this happiness is too perfect to remain in my life for a long period of time because maybe I do not deserve it – maybe she is the only one who is supposed to stay; she is always the one who remains untouched amongst vain shadows, blinding lights, shifting winds. meanwhile, these rotting corpses at my feet and a misfit hope on the verge of tears keep punching holes in the walls like a psychopath and I think I might be one as well. until they are all gone. until I am gone, myself.
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