No identity

I am weak.

My heart hangs heavy

full of sadness.

I mourn

what was

thinking not of what could

be.

In making a choice

I rip my identity

away.

Like a bandage on a scab

thinking not of what could be.

Bold, daring.

The scab bleeds like an open wound

throbbing with pain.

Just as my heart feels

heavy

full of sadness.

Will it subside?

I feel less than.

Inferior.

Nameless.

No one.

Bleeding, open, raw.

No identity any longer

not thinking of what could be.

Will it subside?

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