I am not who I am, hiding behind screens.
Pretenses peel bitterly off scorched lips.
Flaking, falling, to the spider-webbed glass
beneath stone feet.

I am not what I am, sulking in digits.
Numerical value added to seconds, hours.
All for a stale crust, and drowned lungs
filled with leaded sludge.

I am not where I am, when the clown smile spreads.
A poppy stained slash across lily pale skin.
Crooked and leaking reassuring reprieves.
Curling burnt fingertips around beating chambers.

I am not who I am.
I am not what I am.
I am not where I am.
I am not.
I am not.

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