When is all lost?  And if it can be lost does that mean it can be found?  Can all be found?

I am not me.  At least not today.  At least not all of me.  The weather is changing.  And I am shedding pieces.  I can feel them fall.  I am creating another coat.  A thicker coat.  It feels like armor.  I cannot lift my arms.

Maybe I am a little lost.  Birds are all around me.  I am not in the woods.  I am in a city.  Birds are all around me.  The small ones always chirping.  A chirping sound that carries.  But does not float.  They move about so quickly.  I can never hold them in place.  They understand the true nature of flight and fight.  I cannot fly.  I cannot fight.  At least not today.

I make myself a statue.   Do I mean that I am a statue or a sculptor?  Does it matter?  What is matter?  What is the matter…with me?

I saw her look at me again.  The whisper thin girl.  Not really a look but a glance.  The whisper thin girl without a smile.  Her face is slate.  I write on her.  A dream.  My dream.  She does not know it.  She does not know me.  She walks by me quickly.  Creating a cool…cold breeze across and into my thick skin.

I shiver…like a down deep shiver.  Like a from my naked soul shiver.  Defining the true nature of cold…distant.

I lean against a tree for balance.  I do not want to fall...again.  I rub… the rough bark bites through my skin.  I continue to rub until I cut.  I continue to rub until I bleed.  

I watch the deep red drips and feel as if I am watering the tree with me.  At least a part of me.  I want to create a flood. There is stillness in this world.  A breath held momentarily.  There is quiet in this world.

The past fades into a shadow…a ghost…fog…a whisper…thin.  I am in this world.  I try to separate the mind into pieces.  My mind…your mind.  That is how we understand…truly understand…each other…in pieces.

I enter somewhere…I see people…maybe they are friends…does anyone ever really know?

When all is lost?  When all is found?

Does anyone ever really know?