Glory be. World without end.
I’m not sure today if I made it.
I don’t know. Today feels familiar, like I’ve lived it already, but it feels wrong. Dirty shirt, smells like BO. Gross. Open a box of shoes: there are sweaty footprints on the insoles, and they aren’t mine. I don’t think. Are they? I can’t tell. Why can’t I tell? That’s a simple question. Are these your shoes, Seer?
Is this your life? Well? Is it? I’m asking you a question.
As it was in the beginning.
And I’m in my mother’s house, and she’s got the sutures, and they’re terrible terrible things, looking just awful, but it’s okay it’s okay it’s all okay and everything will be okay and I can forget forget about yesterday yesterday when I was fetal curled up in my own safeness crying because I had to come here it’s okay I can forget that it’s okay to be here forget if you don’t think about it you can’t smell the piss. I have to wash my hair three times to get the ammonia out in the morning. Forget it it forget.
World without end.
Sometimes I wonder if I really died, you know. There were some times I came close. When people shook the very death off of me like I had leeches on my back. And I wonder if I came back to the world I knew I knew the world I knew was born into and of or stepped into a Purgatory version. Am I paying off my debts now? Do I ever get a list of what they are? A receipt?
And ever shall be.
If I were dead, how would I know? Do the dead know? Would I even know.