Who I Am Again
A bunch of entrails.
I like strawberry milk in a cute bottle.
I was one or many more of those things.
Empty as a shipping container.
A butternut squash which I only eat in the fall.
Only knowing fall things.
Fall hair, and breath.
Nothing will be endless again.
A bunch of entrails.
It’s not Halloween, I’m just myself in there.
Eyeballs and bones.
Should just be one pair of eyes, but it’s many.
I am a person who they found on the dock.
The shipping container had a trace of blood on it.
Not from a paper cut.
So they believed.
Who am I again?
Just someone who narrates.
Has more bones and eyes than they know of.
And yet, they think I’m many.
You can’t open a shipping container without a crowbar.
So they did.
They did it because they knew things.
They found out quickly.
Who I am.
I am the one who likes random things that are stuck like sticky notes.
Who I am.
Every suspect and family member explains.
Who I am.
Again.
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