Automatic writing - Myself

I am not a fan of myself. Myself is difficult. Myself is challenging. Myself is myself. Sometimes we don’t quite see eye to eye. One wants one. One wants another. Compromise. Sharing give and take. Teamwork. Difficult through just the one woman with the green and gold back that takes on each part of you and still shares with others. That black and white liquid that tastes of blood and metal and babies. The twist that doesn’t end no beginning middle or finish a continuation of a continuation. Yellow dances around my eyes and I am alone, blinded by this shock of colour. In need of a protection that is a million miles away and right in front of my face but still out of reach to a human with her tongue cut out. Sliced and separated without question or consultation. Unwanted and thrown away to rot with the pieces of millions. Voicelessness is a concept which is a concept which is a concept which is difficult to understand unless you are voiceless. You cannot trust the other one. the stink of dead fish clings in the nose hair as the innards open up.  A pearl. An iota of hope is found in the rotting carcass and is plucked and taken by the magpie. Winged beauty. Absolute freedom within you, through you, without you, by me, and in me but not myself. Isolation in a square in which the walls mirrored but reflects not the life outside but the death within them.