The metal is sharp, the past cuts deep
To face it hurts worse than to drown it
But does it?
Externalizing the internal strife
I lay on a cold floor face down
And feel each sensation, alone
I must traverse these sands step by step, slowly
One foot in front of the other, not blindly
My transgressions resonate the reverberation of a distant cry
The cry is the “I” crying in me, yet outside me
Why can’t I feel me anymore?
Separation from self, the pain becomes bearable
And I am not I any longer
But then who have I become?
In this bleak, hostile land I seek reconnection
With that “other” self…the former
The real, the original, the essential…..self
The becoming is thus the “returning”
But how will I meet I? Will I accept I?
Will I remember I?
Is it too late?