Shuttling with Patches

It is not the first time that I am to blame for getting into a dead end. To split hairs becomes my problem in the middle of my life and my study. At times I might be too analytical to view things, and such analytical habit tingles with my head, chest and stomach since I feel necessary to express what I desire to say. I keep strenuously changing myself in such troublesome character, but most of the time it fails. Someday I will be put on the tree mass where the thorns upon everywhere, and I should have known that. Yes of course I know it for sure. To some extent I am unaware of my comprehension of what others mean when they unconsciously deliver their thoughts or opinions which makes me feel sorry if it was my fault again. It seems that I obtain no capability to do things right, and I know it deeply in my mind. To seclude from others is the last thing I want to do. It is as if I suddenly tear ourselves apart and go our separate way perpetually. There are some patches sewed within me beginning to char their velvety texture since we are never to be born of nature for patches hatched one by one generating themselves in simultaneous speed and growing into a gigantic rug. You still believe that the natural body can somehow mix the patches for creating a new identity of rug. Such matter loosens its texture and then is hung beside the sink. Every morning you wake up and wash your face with this rug as if to wipe away the dust or particles may obliterate the stains on your face. Or, the rug may bring you to another man whom you wish to escape the form of yourself. The rug, which will be thrown away someday, gets along with you for a short period of time and most importantly touches your skin in an instant. All of a sudden your skin starts to loosen as if I could easily grab a piece of flesh from yours to substitute mine without any effort. The patches on my body are not to be traced back to every man with whom I have encountered until I become a tree full of the patch leaves. But isn't each patch precious before they ultimately form a complete thing? The patch does matters. You may see the tree mass in your sight, while I delve into the patches deep down the leaves of every tree with its patches on. Peppered with patches among tree mass, the patches shuttle me in a quirky circular movement within these trees. Though the thorns upon the trunk sometimes prickle me, the patches still mend my state of mind with yours.