I never know who I am or what I want

everything I see is colored, tinted

by the biases that eat away my logic

so I can’t see it, and before I know it

I can’t see anything as it disappears

into a thick haze of something

that doesn’t even have a name

and sometimes that might be reality

 

I never know what I am like

I am fire and water and air

but never earth, yet what if

sometimes I am earth and don’t know?

I never want to be alone

while remaining decisively in solitude

 

I eat my toast with butter

and maybe that is how I prefer it

but maybe I don’t know any other way

I try to eat it with jelly

I try to eat it plain

in desperation I try eating it

with anchovies and mayonnaise

but no matter what I put on it

it always tastes like toast with butter

the texture changing slightly

but everything tastes like butter

 

I have a refrigerator full of butter

and my dinner is a bowl of melted butter

when I go to the store there’s

nothing but butter

and soon I question if that jelly

or anchovies or mayonnaise

even existed

or even the toast itself

because I’ve never seen them again

 

the only thing I ever see is butter