i keep gazing at circus glass
mirrors that warp and distort

i feel so visible at the moment

nothing fits me better i fear
than the slimming of my soul
to better match the mirror

body in waves, look at me
i feel like i'm a piece of art
that once started was set aside
too abstract to keep working on
at any sensible hour of the day

it doesn't really make sense
this relation of skin to a soul

i think i'm losing my grasp
being abstract art feels somehow
safe - it's a comfort to be loose

let my soul shake itself out

i like the way i radiate chaos
on occasions few and far between

the circus glass is a relief today
i'll be a tapering candle flame
watch me waver & dissociate

i don't recall being complete