Ice Oblivious

You might think being a person is the same as being human, but I doubt that I am either. I am not human but a wear a human’s skin well. I am not a person but I play one well. I can make the expressions and do the little dances that people do back and forth to show emotion. I can laugh and dance and sing and talk. But I don’t feel it. I can’t feel much pain but I can feel the left over of it. I can feel the buzz and the ache, but not the pain. I hear the sound of skin splitting but I don’t feel the pain. I can feel the warmth of another person, but I do feel the tackiness of their skin. Like mine and theirs want to stick together.

I hate it.

I need it.

It’s not fair. I tried so hard to be a real person. I worked through so much. Just have it ripped away. It’s not fair. It’s not fair and I’m not even angry. I’m just sad. I’m defeated. Why did I try so hard?

I am not a person. I am not a collection of memories or places. I am not sure what I am, but I know that I am.