Maybe I'M Daniel

he sat on the floor with his knees to his ears, arms extended out, forearms to the sky. his skin was pale and appeared paper-thin in the translucent glow of the artificial lighting above him. he stared at his palms, his fingers casting shadows across them. he stares. he stares and he wonders. he wonders as he stares and what he wonders is this- 'why are my hands so freaking huge?' the old man, he's been restless lately- i've heard him pacing around my bed before feeling him crawl into it with me. he is Far too close for comfort; i haven't given him a name, or maybe he hasn't told me or i haven't listened. he doesn't need a name for me to acknowledge his existence. he weighs heavy on me.. i am not the way my voice sounds, i am a result of it. i am not how long my arms are, i am a result of it. i am not who i know, what i wear, or what i like. i am not how far i see, how fast i read, or how i fight. i am a result of it. i am the infinite sum of an impossible equation. and i feel nothing.