(Have you seen me?)
There is a stack of books beside me. I am supposed to begin writing a paper, but somehow there is something that stops me from putting words on paper.
(Have you see me lately?)
There is something not quite right, not quite wrong. I'm not sure what it is, but there is a part of me that wants to get out, wants to escape, wants to not have what I have anymore. I want this to stop.
(I can't see myself anymore.)
There was a shift last night, in the weather, in the way voices crackled and fought inside my mind. The moon is pregnant and full and waiting to spill across the harbor.
I just want this to be over and done with.
(All I see is what I used to be.)