Where did I go?
Where do I come?
I keep asking myself.
My self…
Did I go home?
Do I come home?
Where is home?
Who is home?
Why is home?
Why home?
Is it the bottom
Of the ocean
From whence I came?
Or my darling lover
From whom I ran?
Perhaps
It is this emptiness
I’ll kill to fill?
Is it my question-mark shaped
Heart beating on the floor?
Or the scars that run from
Bitten fingernails deep through my veins?
Is it the memories that
I live to remember?
Or the moments that
I’d die to forget?
Where am I?
Is this where I wanted to be?
Is this who I defiantly needed to become?
Why am I?
What are these gold plated chains?
I keep purchasing one thing after the next
As if I could find my being
Breathing
Finally!
In one of these brown boxes stained with smiley faces.
I am a conundrum
Because
As the humdrum of existence drums
On
I feel like I am drowning in the abundance
Of
Futile things
Yearning for the eruption
Of
Fertile dreams
While simultaneously floating in the
Cloudless loudness
Of
My nothingness.
But
I
Desperately.
Ferally.
Fierily.
Desire to come out
Before I burn out
Of the this cage that I mummified my self in
As if a sin.
But I am as lost as
I ever have been.
Like any fallen angel.
I am the prison.
I am the prisoner.
I am the jailor.
I am the warden.
I am the prosecutor.
I am the defendant.
I am the judge.
I am the jury.
I am the executioner…
Of my own soul.
Jenim Dibie 