god, what the fuck is wrong with me. i look at myself and i can't even tell who or what i am anymore. a series of actions and reactions. but they are not of me. they are not OF me. it's as though i'm watching myself from the outside. every second is an outer body experience, a vicarious living of living vicariously through myself.

my grains of sand are slipping through the gaps between my fingers. i'm not even trying to hold on to them anymore. i let them all spill. let them fall. i widen the gaps, letting even more of myself escape.

but then i'm back again looking for what i'd lost, what i'd let myself lose. there's no way i'd be able to find it anymore. all i have left is the dusty residue of what once was. dust. ash.