My theory is that everyone is a copy of someone real, existing in my universe, containers filled with spirits, demons, deities, and ghosts, goblins, the plight of humanity, my dark side, defending their interests, the mirror shattered, and my mom works for human resources, the heavens definitely exist outside of me, and all the questions I'm asked are still relevant, measuring and weighing choices, still part of the jar, when my role is called, my character sheet will come into play, lazy and empty, just willing to work, sell himself, get paid, I have a lot in common with Mary, mother of god, the moon shines, Helen of Troy, and I’m not as funny as that, I too am a copy, a cup filled with spirits, a collectible, meant to play a role, but it’s not my house, not sure what I’m saying, but I went to sleep, and I heard Rhianna singing…

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