There is a way my essence splits
And two versions of myself emerge,
But the first true version that split is gone—
It cannot outlive my tremorous surge.

Then there's a way the body lingers,
In rhythm, it moves but never leaves.
It's not a possession, or a common release,
Just a tethered echo in hollow needs.

There is a way the world curves wrong,
As if it's not spherical, rather concave.
As if we're not outside but inside the hollow,
As the eye leaves faulted perceptions of shape...

It's there, in the way the retina lies,
And spins existence before observed,
To let us know that we know what we know,
As knowledge itself grows faint to a blurry.

There is a way the hands disobey,
Keep reaching for love that never belongs.
They act as if they're holding puppet strings,
But their motion is that of a borrowed ghost.

There is a way my heart has thoughts,
And also a way my brain can feel.
The way that my body begs—
The way that I always forget to kneel.

There is a way my essence splits
And two versions of myself emerge,
But the first true version that split is gone—
These very moments my reflection turns.

There was a day that I watched my own essence split,
And two versions of myself dissected as they emerged
But the first version that was real split and disappeared.
I guess it couldn't live through my tremorous surge.

It was the same day my hands started to disobey,
They kept pulling on a love that wouldn't stay close.
They started acted like my heart was invincible.
They acted like my heart dwelled in a vacant ghost.

I learned the hard way that the eyes tell only lies.
Flipping all we see, even before it's actually observed.
I thought I knew the things that we all assume we know.
I thought I knew my own place on the face of earth.

Then I learned how the world actually curves wrong,
As if it's not a sphere at all, but rather con cave.
Like we were never outside, but inside the hollow.
Intentionally, the eyes fault our perception of shape.

There is a way that my heart has its own thoughts.
Then there's the way that my brain started feeling pain.
I know it by the way my body just begs and begs.
Until it gives up and I crash for the first time in days.

There was a day that I watched my own Essence split.
Two versions of myself dissected as they emerged.
But the first version that was real split and disappeared
This was the day I had to watch my reflection burn.

Or maybe he is me, but we don't want to be seen.
Maybe just buried my light a little too deep.
Maybe I am not filthy cause, no one is clean.
Maybe I'm the only one who is my enemy.

Maybe I was not found, cause I didn't need to be.
Maybe I am not bound just afraid of being free.
Maybe trying to **** my demons is slowly killing me,
Cause maybe I'm not the person that I didn't want to be.