I am a visitor within myself.

Am I even real? Do I know what
My skin really feels like? What
It's like to stare into my own eyes—

Are they even mine? Or a loan
That I will give back one day
And the earth will gladly place
Them with the other returns.

Will our dust mix in the soil with
The worms? Will we learn from
Each other then, when we have
Infinity to understand one another
Because there's nothing left to do.

A body is a shield that rips apart
And mixes with the hourglass sand;
Pouring into the bottom we may be
Trapped in—or will we escape,
And become one with the stars that
Live and die too?

Will we have a chance to come back,
To experience the battered sorrow
Of existence once more—seeing if we
Can know love and get to find who
We are?

Will I feel whole within my
Skin the next time around before
It's too late again?

Maybe I can feel that now.