I have a friend. A tenant on my bloodline who sleeps and showers. He eats too and drinks plenty.

His condition is ocular. He can’t help but see dim things because he is maladjusted to the light. Too little is too much and not enough for his skin.

It’s confusing. Even to me, after that weird dream. To live life all dreamlike without the sleeping and regardless.

I yell in monotone, welling my eyes at this very act of understanding. Telling him. Trying. To tell him that I care, though I do not. I haven’t felt a thing in weeks minus the times it is me and the music and minus the times I ingest your opinions.

I can’t help it, this self-centredness is my rod and my staff and they comfort me.

I have thought and unthought seeing myself from someone else and maybe, entering a state of rest and all I have found are your thoughts of me and unrest. What more can I say? It’s me and the world versus the world and me all the time minus the third person.

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