First.

I wake up, covered in the dark that had been my home so long... Yet something...
Something is different.
What is this thing that I see, this new feeling? This new atmosphere?
It is like the dark is starting to slide off, leaving me, a creature of dark, alone in the light. Standing, a stark contrast. And I can feel that.

I stand up, weak on my legs. I had thought before that I had moved, so why is it strange to take a step?

Had I been dreaming? Am I now awake? Is this what breathing feels like?

Or maybe this is the dream, and soon I will return to my comfortable darkness. But this feels... Real. The things I knew before do not.

I look down at myself. I am naked, and I am white. All around my feet lies the darkness, in a shroud at my feet. I reach out, touch it, pick it up... And it slides between my fingers. It looks like me, but it feels cold. Unfamiliar. I am not drawn to it as I was before, which is good as I no longer can hold it. It will not stay with me, even when I cup my hands.

Next I inspect myself. The darkness pooled at my feet is completely separate from me, and I take a shaky step away from it. It does not follow. What does follow is a long black mark that starts at my feet. It is separate from the shadows. It is part of me, like a scar or tattoo. I trace it with my finger, and something tells me that this is not the same as the darkness I had before. It has no traits, no pulls or draws. It merely bears witness of who I was, of where I was.

The world around me looks empty. It is flat and large, like an endless expanse of white with a shale floor. The white shines brightly, as though it is made of light. Perhaps it is, but when I walk over to the wall that was behind me and reach my hand out, it feels like a normal painted wall.

What is this new place? I don't know. I look back to where I was, now a simple puddle of darkness receding into the ground. Into the ground? I walk back to it, still shaky on my legs. The black is shrinking under the shale. Perhaps I too can find something under the shale?

I slip my fingers under a piece and immediately am cut. I draw my hand back quickly in shock, staring at the blood coming from my finger. It is no longer black as I had remembered. It is red, red and pure.

Who am I?

I look up, thinking to see a ceiling perhaps. But no, no ceiling here. The expanse seems to go on forever. Perhaps if I walk?

As I walk, I think about where I am. What I am. I had known before, but that was in a different place. If this is not a dream, then everything I had known about myself is different now. Rendered obsolete.

I'm not even wearing anything to cover myself here.

I don't even have a home, here...

In the distance I see something in the sky. It looks like another floor, but it has buildings. I can only see it slightly though, as through a haze. Perhaps if I keep walking, I can get to it?

And perhaps if I keep walking, I will figure out who I am..

Thought dump. I'm too awake for this.

So it's when we are tiredest that our truth comes out. When sleep erodes the barriers betwixt emotions and our exterior and even what goes on inside and suddenly everything that happens inside your head connects to your heart, and suddenly you can't help but notice it. 

If this is to be awake, no wonder I keep myself tired. 

It's when the fog we cast over our mind is lifted and suddenly we find ourself running, running at full speed with a mind like a sphere and there's no one here and we are all alone because no one can know or understand that this is life, day in, day out. 

Focus. Focus is that fog. We cannot control the speed at which our mind works and we cannot keep one thought long enough to complete it so... Focus. The fog of the mind. Throwing a blanket over everything just long enough...

We hope. 

And we put ourselves in a box

In a box?

In a cage

In a cage?

In a shell

A turtle shell and you can't get us out

We are the entitiy that is heart and mind and soul and spirit and all of the time

It 

Reads

Like

THIS like a whirlwind 

No punctuation

The music that accompanies is sometimes the only way to root it all into one plant. 

Because otherwise we'd have a garden.

But too much, and the flowers would suffocate each other. 

There is no training for this. There is no recognition for this. 

What do we call ourselves?

Broken.

We call ourselves broken.