it sometimes feels as if i am nowhere at all, as if i am watching everything take place and there is a man making my mouth move in time to conversations. i wake up sometimes back in my skin to learn that i have ruined everything (or this body has, at least, and the mistakes that fall so easily from my fingertips, it seems), and i cannot handle it. i sever myself, and at first it’s magnificent because without an attachment to my existence, how can something harm me? but now it happens frequently, when i don’t wish it, in the middle of sunny days full of laughter and sprinklers and during fireworks and at home while i’m trying to write a poem. and did i write this? i feel as if i am constantly blackout drunk, like i’m always catching up, like i’m never really home. did i write this? will i remember it, come morn?