Haze, mist, smoke.

I like being drunk

I am by self this time.

I hide myself in no memories

this time in dying

in some bad drawn dyes.

I am and I was today, 

and I was alone looking for someone to find me and define me, because I was border-less.

I leaked myself in my house as a dense haze and space of somethingness.

I covered it all, but then it became a cage in which each step I take I would find myself poking around.

Is this the way to live?

Poking and saying:

"what is expected from the first expected thing of us?"

And then someone gazing around, again, around my home,

would make me regain myself, but I would still be a border-less one.