Fragments of power. No power.
Fragments of will. No will.
Fragments of thoughts, consider revising.

Consider choosing. Or not choosing.

One button, too many holes.
Only two choices.

Though nothing may remain but the rumour.
Though nothing may remain but the memory of an odour.

Wire from emotion to vision. Cut.
I can still feel the pain in my index finger.

The atoms and the molecules of my hand blends with the atoms and the molecules of the…

…who pushed the mute button?

I did. I am.

A line appears;
parting is all I know of hell.

And without him, I will continue,
stuck inside this flesh.

Attempting to see me, through his eyes.
But all I can find is a reflection of another person,
Aroused, by her own naked skin.

Everything is the same, can't you see?
Even though the sensation may be new.
You’re still by yourself.

I, whom I’ve never met.

And still.
Veracity bores me:

I thought I was silent.
Till I went silent.

I thought I was unique.
Till he left.

And now this question of accepting.
I never wanted it.