Untitled
March 27 2006
I made myself up. New family. New history.
I don't know why.
It wasn't that I didn't like myself.
Maybe I found the fictional me more interesting.
I don't know why.
It wasn't that I didn't like myself.
Maybe I found the fictional me more interesting.
It was something that just happened,
Like an accident you see unfolding,
Happening to you in slow motion
But seeming to happen to somebody else.
And now that it's over
And I'm living in the wreckage,
I think: This isn't me!
But of course it is.
