there are so many versions of me
i can hardly tell which one is me
i often think i am me in the morning
but then i am angry and bitter so
i prefer the me before the screen
but she is an apparition rarely
allowed out: the one before the
bench seems to understand logic
or perhaps it is the me
that swims, where silence engulfs
and i am not allowed to breathe
or perhaps it is me when i sleep
our legs entangled, mine helpless
to move or escape respecting
my destiny has no escape
