Name: What is thou—without thee.
Writen at: 2/5/26 - 3/5/26

How shalt thou consider thyself,
when the self thou art can never be thee? 

Diverse is thou from thee, indeed,
so far apart, not even raven can tell similarity. 

So much so that even thou, or thee, when looking in the mirror, says:
“Who—who is thou?”

What thou art is only an image;
what thou wantest is a belief. 

So much so that even thyself canst not control thy mind,
canst not decide what thou believest, canst not even decide thyself. 

How decide what thou wantest, when thou canst not decide thyself’s decisions? 
How do what thou desirest, without knowing what thou desirest in the first place? 

And even if thou dost, tis no use, no use at all. 
Thou hast gone far—so far thou canst not come back.
Far into thine own loop, thine own looping rooms,
in thine own trap, stuck in the despair of thine own making. 

As thou awakest, nothing happens.
Thou hast now officially lost thee,
lost thee, lost thy value, thy morals, thy everything—
everything, indeed.

From this moment, thou shalt suffer forevermore. 
Thy suffering, unbound by anything outside of thee. 

(And what truly is thou, outside of thee?)
How should thou live, when thee
is not thine light, not thine hope,
and all the binding art is gone forevermore? 

(And what is thou—without a vow to thee.)
And how—how shalt thou live like this,
with no connections—
no connections to thee?
(Thou shalt exist—nevermore. But suffer forevermore.)