I carry analog collections of myself
From moment to moment
With imperfect memories
And slightly altered desires

Now here’s the mystery
How much of me
Must there have been
To retain my identity

my regrets collect in my heart
like acid rain
engulfing and destroying
the nice memories

Am I but a shadow, a silhouette?
If I step into the light, will I reveal myself
Or will I disappear?

Do I exist between worlds of light?
Am I just a bookmark betwixt meaningful pages?
Or do I inhabit a unique world of my own?

Has my ego been fabricated
By life-long skewed narration
Were analyses properly weighted
To account for complex variation

Can one know if such revelation
Is possible to discern
When id dictates self-adulation
Deception lies at every turn

I suppose I must accept the inevitable.
I’ll never fully meet myself,
ever a stranger to me and others,
an unread book upon the shelf.

- But in retrospect, I was never up to *****
  Of all the stuff
  I never loved enough

I carry analog collections of myself
From moment to moment
With imperfect memories
And slightly altered desires

Now here’s the mystery
How much of me
Must there be
To retain my identity

burst from white cocoon
imagine you have black wings
quite different flight

Who's using all of the toothpaste? Why so much blood in the sink?

Jesus Christ, man
I'm talking to you
pay attention

Perhaps I’m skating over an icy heart
Will she ever feel my warmth

There’s a madness within
that roils my soul,
and entreats me beyond safe confines.

What is it that pushes me to the edge of the mountain
tempting me to jump
and end the uncertainty?

It’s not just wanderlust,
not just a desire for peril.
It’s a quest past aching to outright pain.

Let me jump the brane from internal peace to the terror beyond.
Can’t wait for unknowable possibilities.
Can no longer sail with prevailing winds.

I must hurl myself into the typhoon.