to lay naked in front of yourself is an exercise in your mortality. in learning the difference between loneliness and being alone. let the voices within your thoughts swirl around you and you are echoing in them. nothing is as humbling as ugly vulnerability. stripping yourself of the pride of your personhood. your pride calling out from behind you — a baby’s scream for attention. you release yourself to walk upon the ashes of your ego. let those who watch you come to their own conclusions. their eyes tearing at your flesh and tongues wagging in understanding. do they understand? expectations crack through your window, as daybreak comes to meet you curled into the womb of your thoughts. the cooing of sunlight begs you to rise into it. but you are crippled. again. you swim, paddle, in strained attempts to be free. the task of being plagued! the burden of this affliction. if it were a robe, would you not shed it? if it were rope, would you not find its beginning? find its end? you have toyed with the idea of hibernation, haven’t you? toyed with the idea of laying there until something finds you — until the dew that had blanketed you dries on your flesh with first sun. if that becomes your liberation, so be it.
so be it.