why can't i write anymore?
what have i lost
that once meant everything to me?
don't say it
don't say it's him.
just because he's gone doesn't mean i have to be.
but then again
i always have had a habit of dissociating with
the identities that remind me of suffering.
i wonder if someday, in a few years,
i will dissociate with this identity, this current one
the identity that dreams of scientific discovery
of astrophysics, and neuropsychology
of MIT and professors who think i have talent
and will adopt some other
one that is just as opposite as science was to writing.
i wonder if i'll ever know who i truly am
or if i'll just keep leaving behind
everything that links me to these sleepless, anxious nights
to this pale face, these cold hands, these downcast eyes
to the depression that seems to follow me wherever i go.
i'm so lost
and if i can't even find myself,
who else will?