One day,
You find yourself,
Different,
Different,
Changed,
Gone is who you once were,
Here comes someone unknown;
Take a look -
Would you want to?
No, I say,
I wouldn't want to know them either.
Who is that? Who?
Who is that inside my body,
Staring blankly back at me?
And where have I gone?
Oh, and where have I been!
Don't tell me I got lost along the way,
And now someone claims my least prized possession!
Take it.
What is this rot far away,
That calls yonder,
And whispers tunes of flaw
Mistake,
And devilry....
"Nigh, I am the past,"
He speaks in muted tones,
He screeches in the night,
He pierces this body,
This body that is rightfully his.
"For I was here first,"
He gallantly complies,
And I know, within,
I am not me,
And me is not I,
And I want not,
Am not,
I am a stranger to my own realm.
Yet neither does he want,
What I have,
And want not,
And for the life of us we cannot,
Cannot come to terms
With where and whence and how,
We should distribute this filth,
This filth the soothsayers call life.
"And death,"
He remarks,
"Is a comforting benefactor,
A release per se...
Do you want it?"
Such is my reply,
"I cannot have a want if I cannot will,
And will I am not,
I am not me,
And therefore,
No, I am not free...
Nought herein...
And nought cannot choose
One thing from another."
And with that, I taste death,
Death within the the filth that is life.
State of non-existence,
Consumeth nought.
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