"Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself,
(I am large, I contain multitudes)"
Walt Whitman
I too contain multitudes Walt Whitman. My self-contradictions have burrowed inside me; swarmed and eaten (swarming and eating). I am riddled with burrowing self-doubts. They grow fat on my insecurities; they grow large. I contain multitudes Walt Whitman; I contain ever-widening circles of confusion. I contain an ever-shrinking sense of purpose. My prosopagnosia hides the world. I look at myself and cannot see. My isolation is complete; it is populated with multitudes. I am everything in my isolation, I am nothing. I am one of you, I don't understand you. I have nothing to do with you, I embrace you. Walt Whitman: you’re wondering wandering walking and waltzing through rivers of blood with blinkers on; caressing the hair on a young man's chest while his civil war uniform soaks up his blood. I too can look away from the carnage to mourn the loss of literature. I can embrace the floral amidst the inmates and the wardens. I can even try to forget my own internal carnival of insects; eating my cadaver before it ossifies - before it stops moving. You win some, you lose some. Do I contradict myself?
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