Identity

I don't know who I am, what soul I have.
When I speak honestly, I don't know what sincerity I speak to.
I'm different from an inner me who doesn't know if the outer me exists at all...




I feel beliefs I don't have.
Likewise, I'm eager enough to repudiate any perhaps.
My perpetual attention to myself perpetually tips my soul
with betrayals for a character that I may not have,
nor does anyone think I have.




I feel multiple.
I'm like a room with countless fantastic mirrors that
twist to false reflections of a past reality that
has not, in any form, relevance at all.




I feel a tree and its flower take me to the same conclusion.
I feel I live in other people's lives, incompletely though,
as if my inner being experienced all men's virtues and vices!

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Identity

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