I am
blank slate. I am
empty drum. I am
hunger pang. I am

Who am I?
Am I anything?

It takes every effort
of every sinew
of every muscle in my body,
the concentration
of every nerve,
of every synapse in my brain
just to form a sentence

and I don’t even recognize the voice speaking it.

It must be mine.

Is it mine?
Am I real enough to claim anything?

A hollow shell of an individual –
I never claimed to be whole in the first place.
Don’t push me – I’m tired.
There is no honor, no
no nobility in suffering.

I want to go home
but I don’t have a place in mind.

EJZ 05.01.2015