I am here.
And I see you, sometimes, or speak to you; I am pressed to a glass wall, somehow within myself, watching you through it.
I speak but the words do not leave the lips of this eternally, bigger-than-myself, this glass outer which seems the only expression or manifestation of 'self' in this forsaken world.
I can feel myself crying out, but somehow these wordsthoughtsfeelings do not escape
can not escape
I am a nothing inside of this illusion; I am here, in this somewhere-nowhere inside of the Self.
I am aware of no solution to this barrier, it will not break. It seems unnoticeable to those outside.
The only 'me' that is true to this is the one encased here, and silent.
I watch the worlds of others as they turn in endless orbit around me, near or far, but I am so unable to touch; I find myself wondering if my hands are broken, for whatever capacity they exist, or if the voice I had is lost
I remember the once-was, times of change; I remember them as half-dream, and the guilt I feel at being unable to return to them is a weight that I know not if Atlas himself can bear.
My sky is inside; my world is confined here inside of me, inside of this glass effigy.
I remember moments surreal; being held through the storm; worlds of light beating at it for a time.
I am here in the nothing now, though, and this time, I am wholly alone.
I do not know how to open my own gates.
I am aching for the breath of something other; although "help" has never been a word so easily leaving my lips.
I remember this place. I remember crouching here, and there was blood; so much blood.
It is frightening, to feel so alone.