I have senses I've been told don't exist.

grains
of shadow and light
blown up
exploded, blown out of proportion, to make
a face
your face
my face is nothing but a million trillion grains on a negative (remember those?)
coalescing, no, conjuring into being, this weird fleshy mass with weird wet spots and air vents that I call my face

I have been conjured into being

a swirl of grains dancing their primordial, galactic swirl into form, the form of what you foolishly think of as solid: yourself

I am here to tell you that you are not yourself

oh, really, mother, doctor, well-meaning friend, psych ward staff, then who am I?

never mind that. It's trite. Unless you've ever been locked up before. Well, I have, and I still know I don't want to play that card. So why don't I delete it?

I am here to tell you, mother, doctor, well-meaning friend, psych ward staff, that you are not yourselves

your first problem is that you think you end where the space around you begins
you don't realize that the air is TP-ed and cobwebbed with shooting synaptic connections and your very "edges" dissolve into the space around you, like an aroma

I have senses I've been told don't exist. Well, fuck you, what if I told you your sense of smell didn't exist?

What if...