Standing on the curb Watching your other self Pass you by, waving as they pass Do you get up and go find yourself Or do you wait for yourself To come back to yourself?
A question I asked myself countless times Times when I felt like I wasn't being real To my true self Life is sometimes cruel With its trials and tribulations To the point where one has to leave Ones truest convictions To pursue a life of less substance
Thinking about the fellow Who looked like a replica of me earlier I examined myself and how my life Has taken turns to the unknown Crisscrossing into an unknown maze Knotting and unknitting Right in front of my eyes I sometimes sit and wonder What I had done with the thread of life Cause I'm at the point of choking myself With every move I make
The next minute I found myself lost In the beautiful words by a wonderful poet That I hold dear And she said: "It is the very liquid soul That oozes from this pores To light the sidewalks with our magic Beyond the distant shores It is the joy from which the laughter Of the dying is drawn"
Sitting in my apartment Later still, that same evening I got rudely awaken by an abrupt call From the police department When I was asked to identify my own body.