The pulling and ripping of my skin is a constant reminder of my consciousness.
A self-remembering has been replaying since I was a child.
Who was I?
I am no one at 1,2,3,4,5…
The numbers go on until I reached full awareness I am someone.
I am a gentle soul like every other.
I am pieces of myself trying to put myself together to exist as one.
Walking amongst others who fail miserably just as so.
I touch the fabric to my soul constantly,
that my awareness shakes me so I tend to see right through the lines in between. Always misguided but sometimes I find my way over and over again.
