ha?
this face is not my face.
ha-ha-ha i'll laugh with the mouth that is not mine, watching the flesh that is there wrinkle and fold in a most unattractive manner.
these hands are not mine, so it is not my fault if they reach up the body, reach up to the neck until the lungs can no longer inhale. if i opened up the stomach with a knife, it would not be mutilation - it would be a dissection.
these memories, this life, cannot be mine. none of this is mine. i am an impersonator in this flesh - there is no real me, this is all an experience i am stealing from someone.
this is not mine, so when red semi-circles form in the flesh, when white hot irons press to the thigh, when the body collides with the ground, it will not be my fault. it cannot be my fault.
this body is not mine, so i cannot control it. i cannot move away from the mirror, the hands are still gripping the countertop, still locked into a staring contest with the mirror. the face distorts further, until a smile is not distinguishable from a grimace. ha-ha-ha !