It seems I can’t wake a single day
without first asking—
   Who am I..?
   Okay, calm down, Valjean.
   No need for drama.

   You know yourself better
   than any other ever could.
      Who lives beyond,
      behind, beneath your eyes?
      If not you?
   If not —  me?
   Not—
   no.
stop.

   And this is where
all
thoughts

d

r

o

p

My eyes widen
and I wait.
Barbed wire unwinds—
threading through the subconscious,
inch by inch.

Restrained.
     Subdued.
            Muted.

   For but a moment,
   the off-beat
   pulse of confusion
   fades
a  w  a  y . . .

Stained-glass eyes, ajar,
peering through vacant space.
An empty husk sits

unoccupied.

Psyche:
abandoned.

***-***…

Jaw agape
   salivating.

***-***…

Moans, groans,
   humming to no one.

***-***…

   What ghosts
   do you
   mumble to?

***-

A lamp’s light creeps
toward what, before,
was naught.

-***

Is this—
   intent?

Perhaps—
   Purpose?

Life?

Who’s to say?

What is life,
anyway?