More of me than one mind. More of me than one heart. More of me than one soul. Less of me, just one part. Love is good. Love is bad. I can't decide if I'm happy or sad. If there's more of me than one, than perhaps I'm just mad. Crazy to think I could finally find sanity. I lost myself looking. I'm my own enemy. Who I am now is just a darker version, of the man I once was... Another person. Sometimes I hate you, and others, I don't. I think I love you, but I really don't know.
I remain puzzled by my own puzzles, of pieces the universe strung together through its orbits, of the shades of blue and pink and steel grey it painted on my wrists and my cheeks and my tiny feet for there is no reason why I should crave silence, yet my ears thirst for it, and the noise of life too I long to let loose, yet I keep my chest sewn shut I have so much to say, but speaking drains me because the warm and the cold runs and spins and stirs and standing here, I remain confused as I wonder what to be and wander through the land and sea searching for who to be.