What’s to become of me

What’s to become of me

I wonder
what’s to become of me.
There’s a scent in the air,
that I clearly see,
I smell flowers
through the touch
of my fingers,
and I taste whatever
my imagination places
in a memory that lingers.

My senses
have flipped,
they’re no longer
so reliable.
I read them
differently now,
as my world
becomes undeniable.

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