I gaze at the mirror and close my eyes. I open
them again to see skin unfamiliar with mine.
“Where have I tucked myself last night?” It’s
annoying how mysteriously dramatic I am. I
cannot even go on writing a phrase without
citing to some sort of figure of speech like
a shadow. I’ve said a myriad of times how I
felt like a shadow or a puppet to my emotions;
a silky envelope of emotions protecting the
demented larvae that I am.
HUBIN MAGAZINE
196