Everyday I feel I die a little.
The parts that make me ‘me’ can’t seem to see eye to eye, live side by side, and often contradict themselves.
The shell that contains them is crushed and squeezed from the outside that they have to kill one another so they all can have their seats before the music stops.
Crushed and squeezed so good that there’s no space left for things that are unseen.
The battle continues on until there’s only one, or none.  What am I then and who am I? And what’s the point in being a being?
I dread that day will come soon rather than later for I have lost most of my power.


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