Once Again

I'm not really alive, I promise you that.

I'm breathing, yes. My heart is beating, yes. I blink, my lips are still moist from conversation, my face is a little reddened from tears.

I'm not alive though. I'm not quite sure what, where, how I am.

I'm tired I know that. I've seem to spread my mind thin from all the dreaming. Yet, I still yawn and sigh from sleepiness. Ten hours isn't enough anymore. I'm not quite sure if I'm awake or asleep and far away in some fantastic dream.

I've lost touch with my surroundings, I'm unsure of all tanglible things. I'm existing through my mind, through awareness. I'm still questioning it all. What if I'm just a figment, a small particle, an atom, a dream. Made up. I'm some character in a story written years ago.

I'm trying to mold myself, as if I were made from a block of raw clay. These are my limbs, there are my eyes, these are my thoughts. I'm flesh, I believe.