If you cut me, would I bleed?
Or would fog drift out of my skin,
flowing out into the air and disappearing?
My feet make soft echoes with each step, shadow following me.
A million drops pelt my skin, running down my face.
They go right through me, sinking into the damp ground.
If you beat me, would I bruise?
Or would you go inside of me,
flowing through my veins and out again without leaving a mark?
This house feels empty.
I walk through it....but I'm not here.
I am a ghost, a phantom,
wandering through dimly lit halls.
If you shocked me,
I wonder,
would I feel it?
It's all out of focus. Out of touch.
Grey.
What would I give, to see with my eyes,
to hear with my ears.
To touch with my skin rather than my mind.
Or would I?
I think... therefore I am?
Do I think?
...Am I?
If you broke me, would I shatter?
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