GHOSTS OF ONESELF OR SHORT WAY TO SCHIZOPHRENIA

They are all nearby, they are all with me.

The shadows of me that never happened. All variation that could have happened.. if..

Invisible until attention’s eye catches them.

Lit by the moon light they get a body.. and a voice.. Are talking among themselves.

Are playing along on the piano. Are dictating the words for my posts. Are looking through the pages of my books.

The most important is that they must not see me. If I start listening to them, there’ll be no Me and their voices will become everything that fills the inner emptiness.

/old

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