You're Winsome; You're Loathsome

"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?