sweating in the sauna of these glowing boxes

sometimes this is too much for me
and i want to stop the world
or at least stop myself
from splintering
into infinite alternate universes.
i am well-versed in worshiping
the glowing box.
please, somebody, turn it off
and get me out of here.
it gets so complicated
when one person exists
in so many places at once.
i just don’t think it’s right,
nor can i go back
and sweep up all the pieces
under the carpet in the play room.
sometimes i catch a glimpse of myself in the past
and it sends shivers up my spine.
i feel like a shattered mirror
with each piece caught up on a different facet of my light,
capturing bits of me at precise moments in life,
never to be reunited
so i can be whole again.
all those little pieces
are ganging up on the big one,
the largest shard of glass i have left,
the one i cling to,
the one i call “me,”
and the little sparkles of light from above
rain down silver confetti confessions
scratching the facade, drawing blood.
when the last glass breaks down
and all that is left
are useless tinsel,
where will “i” be, then?
shrinking smaller and smaller,
disappearing, dissipating,
only then to realize the initial assessment of embodiment
was far too modest.
stretch, stretch,
“i” am already at my limits
and already always beyond them.

On Tradition

Aus Gott wird man gebor'n, in Christo stirbet man. //////////////// Und in dem heil'gen Geist fängt man zu leben an.

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