this is disjointed this is fragmented this is coded this is unclear this is called dissociation and if you think i can explain it while caught in the troughs of its relentless swell, then honey you’ve got a big storm coming. i am a dripping wound of a human right now. i am a body of shame. i am a genderless ghost seeking revenge. i am a ball of angst and apathy. i perspire in my sleep even with the air conditioning on and all the blankets thrown off in fury or fear. i consider my brain still under refurbishment. this is listless. this is the tangled mass my favorite gauze-pop singer spoke of. this is i am not dead just floating1 this is but i wish i was sometimes this is all i’ve known for half a year now. this is a mist finer than fog and i am adrift without lanterns. without maps. without the whole motor for fuck’s sake. i am waiting out the weather because this is an all summer in a day type situation: if i do not see the sun soon, i will die here in an overcast twilight.