I...

To reflect upon that which is yet to occur
would be wasteful and fake, of that I am sure
deception is dismissed and truth rings in my words
my clarion call this, won't be the last heard

I've sought forgiveness and I desire restitution
I've caught a sickness, I require absolution
for that which I've ruined, will never be whole
for all that I drew in, have devoured my soul

I'm contradictory; substantial yet pedantic
trapped on a fatal trajectory; I'm an irrational erratic
empty yet full and broken yet whole
magnetized to match a chaotic dipole

I am consumed by a darkness, bathed in the shadows
weighed down by old memories
and drowning in the shallows
but just as the surface begins to draw near
I begin to regret this, begin to feel fear

And I ask myself...
Who am I?
Who are you?
What is real?
What is true?

For to be cursed with uncertainty is a fate worse than death
since the latter has a boundary drawn past your last breath