a body
floating in space
a mirror
unknown, a face
a chest, that rises and falls
*******, unwanted, I stall
this label, this name, this "girl"
whom only on certain days, echoes my world
otherwise i'm known as the ghost
an inbetween, a maybe,
almost.

i first felt confused.
everything seemed to slip between my fingers
were they even my fingers?
now i was completely terrified.
this sense that everything was foreign like i've never seen these surrounding in my entire lifetime.
i didn't
couldn't feel myself.
my
it
those fingers.
i saw them move as fingers do, but they didn't seem like my hands, my fingers, my flushed palms.
it felt surreal.
even the people i knew seemed unknown to my eyes.
it gave me this churn in my stomach.
a churn that screamed "danger".
but why?
don't i know these people?
i should know how they act
how they talk
how they walk
how they move.
but when i saw them talk
when i studied how their lips formed around words
i heard nothing.
there was no familiarity in their voice and the words they spoke from their mind to their tongues.
it sounded
like static.
like white noise.
the nothingness that's heard in a room of complete silence.
i felt like white noise.
that fuzziness; the pins and needles kind when you haven't moved in hours.
i could've brushed it off.
maybe tried to refocus my brain into thinking that
"yes. all of this is familiar. don't be so dumb."
but i couldn't.
all i felt was bile in my throat as i internalized my imminent panic.
it was settling there in the pit of my stomach all because
i couldn't recognize my own voice.
i couldn't recognize their faces.
i couldn't recognize where i was nor could i recognize why i was there in the first place.
what was my purpose?
why do i wake up, go to school, come home, sleep.
why do i do these things that give me little to no substance in my life?
this regular schedule
of constance.
that's what caused this white noise.
the white noise that pressed anxiety and stress into my chest
making it heavier
making it harder to breath
making it worse.
i hated it.
but i couldn't do anything about it.
this white noise.
oh, how much i despised the thing.
but
all i can do is revel in the moment until it passes.

the dust clouds have settled
from days of drawing rivers
and fearing the night
i have loved the way the sun
doesn't burn my skin.
i have loved the little lights
as they scatter across the black treacle
making my hazy head look up.
the rain still falls
and my days are still blue
i have grown fond of myself
even if most days i don't believe that's true

i want to curl in her collar bone
the valley copious with soft smell from a dress
she has on all the time
a night of honeysuckle sweet
recalls in taste on the roof
of my mouth
that keeps all words to her
but spills out as a cry
kept in the pillow.
a hollow mind
a theater for exhibitions of past
leafed through my flight of the short life
i lived
it shuts as a green light reflects in irises
of my garden
with the beloved suns of hers
and a beaten milk glass of his
a gloomy blue boy puts them to sleep
and a leaf crisps under a silent step of mine.