These images I see… are they real? And my voice…
When I speak, there is no sound that is made.
I can see them; I can see these things that do not exist.
But they are rising up past a beyond me, escaping my sight.
They are rising, or I am falling. Neither or both, one or the other, I cannot tell.
Scattered fragments of places, things, faces and memories; my memories.
I can see them rushing away… of my friends and family…
Like broken shards, of glass.
And I’m falling… who am I?
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Remonalynn
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