Thoughts like these get trapped
in the steel box between
my mind and my mouth
they buzz in my throat, stinging and shivering
they get trapped in an iron called fear,
stuttering in complete primitivity
simply because fear
is devoid of complication.
And these words stay stuck in my throat,
because false hope is not easy.
It’s not simple, it is infinite.
So who am I?
Nothing.
Nothing, and no one.
My identity is a variable,
I am yesterday and tomorrow and ten years ago.
I am a property that is ever-changing,
yet somehow
inevitably consistent.
