My entire body has been made and remade and deconstructed by little things I've picked up from different people along the way.
Different people create different feelings inside me and sometimes it's beautiful, and sometimes it ***** the life out of me.
Sometimes I get lost in the small fragments of new ideas and touch that I forget reality is where I'm supposed to live.
Sometimes it feels more natural to be in whatever kind of emotion limbo I've fallen into, than to try and swim back to the top and attempt to explain it to someone who won't ever see through my glass chest - and read the stories I've stored in there.

It's meant to be shared.