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Scattered.


Because I can't feel my legs anymore.
They're dangling on the floor of a room miles away, where they wish to be. Not here. They were not meant to be here this long.
Fingers try to make castles out of the humid dry air.
Nothing.
The dark is blinding. And I see everything. That's why it all mixes up into one single colour. The colour of the world.
And you think I can't see a thing.
And my mind? You ask if my mind was in the right place?
Could you point me out where it is actually supposed to be?
Is it supposed to be dangling on the butcher's where all of you have laid yours?
Have you thrown it to the sea because you wanted to start clear?
You know where my mind is?
It's in the middle of a bridge.
One side of it leads to your reality.
Another leads to my home.
Tell me where I should go.
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