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how do the lucky ones feel themselves? for me it seems only like a foolish hope to be bred never in the moment, i'm a lost cloud instead a wandering soul, a floundering girl locked not only in but also out of my head
stuck in an illusion, reality doesn't feel quite so real there's a shivering mist blanketing through my mind there's a significant part of me i just cannot find - how do the lucky ones feel themselves? i find only echoes when i reach out for myself
my mind's not mine, my body's not either i just live in it, like paying rent to some stranger half of me is gone, half of me is here now i don't know which part of me i can feel which part is rotten, which part is real who are you, oh familiar stranger in the mirror?
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