Myselves

 The one that I am is plural. 

I am the one whose hands are sweaty, shanking, when I am to be asked. And I am the one who is going to change the world. 

I am who is crying out for the precious gift of the life that I have. And the one who is weeping for none of this world is meaningful and would like to be gone.

All of these selves are real, filling the full self. The capacity of it may it be as wide as life itself and how it develops into something else, sometimes. Because is only sometimes when you are like this, and still, it is the whole time. 

It is not like voices or contradictory feelings as they may seem, but as a complete equation, there's no x without y; there's no light without darkness, and no life without death. In essence is a whole one. 

Now, in this delicate balance, for how long shall I endure my own selves? 'Till one part takes another, for instance; accepting them all, for a living. Where shall sanity remain in this line?

Let's sleep along with the ghosts.