I am many. I am few. I often, at times, don't have a clue as to why I am this way. Awake alone, yet somehow not. The me that's me is now forgot. I live like this most every day. Memories start; I was just three. Strange was I, apparently. "Unique" was what they used to say. An artists soul. A manic mind. The sorrow in me to most was blind. And childhood turned a shade of grey. Recognizing my selves, from there I grew. Gave names to some of those I knew. Fear of self began to stray. Still today my panics arise but confusion for those inside me dies. I let them run. I let them play. Sadness grips, it tears at me. For this, my mind will never free. So, I opt for other demons to slay.
Awake alone, yet somehow not. The me that's me is now forgot. I live like this most every day.
Memories start; I was just three. Strange was I, apparently. "Unique" was what they used to say.
An artists soul. A manic mind. The sorrow in me to most was blind. And childhood turned a shade of grey.
Recognizing my selves, from there I grew. Gave names to some of those I knew. Fear of self began to stray.
Still today my panics arise but confusion for those inside me dies. I let them run. I let them play.
Sadness grips, it tears at me. For this, my mind will never free. So, I opt for other demons to slay.
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