Who is the I that wants?
What is the thing receiving my thoughts?
Who is the that that says “do more”?
Where is the portal through which I’ll explore?
When is it best to throw in the towel?
When is it time to limp to the gallows?
Who decides when I live beyond form?
And who is it exactly the people will mourn?
I wallow in space and claim things for my own.
I try to save face and find skills I could hone.
I trade you a smile for a smile within,
But I cry five times for each time that I grin.
But still yet I scream elated and brimming,
to feel for a moment that somehow I’m winning.
But the truth is I’m not and there’s really no game,
just me and my thoughts and my name and my pain.