Who am I?
I don’t know.
I am many things in one,
Yet I’m nothing.
I might be the ex-depresee who once in a while wanders – yes I think I have it now, I’m a wanderer, wandering slowly through life like a mad man who…
No wait, I guess I may have finally found it, I am a mad man. The mad man who finds a dead fowl and doesn’t find utensils to cook it but finds utensils the next day when he has discarded the fowl.
Oh and did I mention food?
That reminds me, I might be the foodie who is not really foodie but still enjoys food because it’s one of the few things that brings joy to him.
I might also be the weirdo that loves guns and hopes to cop a couple some day. Maybe a .44 and two uzis
Speaking of Uzis, I might be a Lil Uzi Vert, because all my friends are dead. Well, not dead dead, but dead enough that even in the toughest times in my life I barely recognize their presence.
What am I doing?
Then I guess I am a writer. The lonely writer that got comfortable in his shackles. I dip my feelings in ink, and smear it on my forehead for the world to read
Shackles. Yes those. I am a prisoner. To life and its weird beauty and charm so witty yet daringly abysmal.
The not so nerdy, once fair now darkened, spectacle wearing, love searching, nerd with a big head and a big ass, retarded mummy’s boy