Disconnected syllables of broken names trying to be whole
fill my dreams and echo through my home
while the eyes of a billion childlike selves cast their judgement...
Who are you.
Dislocated limbs pile in corners of my room
and I've forgotten where each fits,
and to which long past figure they belong, but still their eyes question...
Who are you.
Disappearing thoughts leave mist in their wake
only remembered by their now empty space
and a distant weakening whisper...
Who are you.