"I" is someone else

CORRECT

UGLY

It stings as he lays down on his square of purple cloth; His occiput rest like on a stone and send flashes for distraction;
Soon his mind begins to sail, and as he travels through tortuous dilemmas his body get warmer compeling him to move, denuding his meager protection and occupying the space; Each evening his sensitivity touches the fire of torments, his flesh equally pespires and convulses; It requires a dive in the icy air of the nigth to recompose him in a whole, formless and crossed by spasms; The head between the elbows, the brow on the cold metal, he'll recover the sight, and will wait tomorrow to catch a pretending rest; It lacks a magnet to keep the pieces together, unless that comes all at once the hope for a bony hand.

There is only proofs of the dissolubility of each one of us, we are all beautiful and ugly at the same time in a same entity, we are all different at each second and we have no control on that, being aware of this is one thing, tolerate it is way more difficult.