Drifting through the tides of something I cannot place, my body flowing ever freely through something that feels like space. I cannot open my eyes but yet I can see clearly around me. I wonder to myself what this place is. I ask myself if I am dead. I ask myself am I alive. I ask myself who I am and where I am going.
Lost I do not think I am, but I am not yet found ether. I am as I am something that is never quiet one thing or the other. I am always that which is in between but never that which is seen. Too often I am just obscene. Too often I am what they never want to see. Too often I am me. Far too often I am just what you need.
