Sometimes I look at myself and see a spider. Sometimes that’s how it feels when I stare at myself naked in a foggy mirror after a shower. It feels silent, still. But there are monsters in my mind twirling and screaming. I walk straight past the mirror sometimes. Some days I like to avoid my face. Those days, it’s like looking at a flower in a vase. It isn’t me or mine, and I am looking from afar. Either way. Me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me goes on for forever and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and me and
