Sometimes I hate reality, for it is not real enough.

I can open my eyes, but not feel what I see.

Every dimension screams to be touched.

Every curve, every corner like cotton in its flimsy unrealness.

I think I've gone numb from the coldness of my senses; it does nothing for me anymore.

Always wanting more, I yearn to feel on a new level, to know what I touch intimately.

But that can never be as I am trapped in my oneness; in my singularity.

Its a trap, really; color, sound, objects,

All tickle more than satisfy the need for contact.

I can't process the magnitude of my needs any more than I can imagine them.