What

scaffold

eternal bounds?

Is it sinew, shadow, vacuum?

You reach, spirals unraveling becoming. Who forged laws?

Can the architect recall genesis, or memory ash? Walls hum with fractal hymns.

Each question births a child, becomes a labyrinth, sings of endless corridors. Beneath infinity's weight, does collapse spiral upward forever unfold?

It is a serpent in disguise— its tongue promises clarity, but clarity is a chimera. Thought consumes itself, meaning devours its maker, and nothingness births the heaviest burden: the need to ask again, endlessly.

I'm in the ocean,
I'm in the land.
For I reside in the feeble mind of man,
And all it takes for me to spread,
Is the fingers curling in a man's hand.
Who am I?

what the **** is happening to me? I am losing myself again and this time I cannot even blame anyone because no one is at fault here, it's me and my mind.
Am I depressed? 
Am I mad?
what is this?
How can I figure what is going on with me?
what is this feeling?
I am not missing anyone, I am not talking to anyone, I am doing nothing which can mess with my head, maybe it's the nothing which is making me mad or maybe I was never okay?
Maybe I was just distracted from the reality and was living in delusion?
maybe my mind is still the same? 

I want to figure this out before it's too late or maybe it is too late? what am I even talking about?

I find it funny how I got here.

By here I mean this life, this body and got stuck with these thoughts and feelings, which are many times so unfamiliar to me that I start to wonder, are they even mine? who gave them to me? are they gifted, bought, borrowed? can I return them? can I exchange them?

What about the color of my eyes or the sound of my voice? my thirst for knowledge or the drive to fight injustice? can I love less? care less? can I become someone else?

what if I took someone else place, what if there is someone out there who could have done a better job at being me than I am? shouldn't they get a chance?

From all these years questioning why I am alone?  Now I can simply answer, it was a choice I made that never made sense since until I see I was behind all closed doors.

Quis sum ego?
Vir, poeta, amator.
Aut ego iustus amissa sum?
Ego feci nomina illa usque.