I am a visitor within myself.

Am I even real? Do I know what

My skin really feels like? What

It's like to stare into my own eyes—

Are they even mine? Or a loan

That I will give back one day

And the earth will gladly place

Them with the other returns.

Will our dust mix in the soil with

The worms? Will we learn from

Each other then, when we have

Infinity to understand one another

Because there's nothing left to do.

A body is a shield that rips apart

And mixes with the hourglass sand;

Pouring into the bottom we may be

Trapped in—or will we escape,

And become one with the stars that

Live and die too? 

Will we have a chance to come back, 

To experience the battered sorrow

Of existence once more—seeing if we

Can know love and get to find who

We are? 

Will I feel whole within my

Skin the next time around before

It's too late again?

Maybe I can feel that now.