XXXVIII

There is an idea of a 'me'; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. Something you've created to fit your needs. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense that our lifestyles are comparable, It's not me. I am a figment of your imagination and the world is yours to alter. What I'm stating may seem surreal, and though my scent, my taste, my presence is surrounding you... I am simply, not there.