“I” am but a thought,
a loosely stitched patchwork of memories.
Frayed and gapped,
An illusion of my doing, the apparent sum of me.
Present to the world,
this gossamer veil of lesser truths.
Molded and shaped,
for the benefit of other eyes.
Tattered and worn,
threadbare, light cannot be shadowed.
From sleep filled eyes,
awake, now into the simple dawn I go.