It's difficult to sum myself up in words. My mannerisms, voice inflections, and general body language all play roles that can not be portrayed in simple black-and-white print.
There are brief moments while brushing my teeth or shaving when I wonder if I would recognize the man I see in the mirror if he were to pass me on the street. I stare into my own eyes to discover the melancholy brown hue leaking into the bloodshot sea which surrounds it. I blink. Then, I let my eyelids slowly drift down to rest and open them cautiously, one at a time, to determine if I am still there. I am, but this cannot be how I am.
I am standing motionless, a statue with half a face of shaving cream dribbling
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