Identity

What have I added to the
litter of this city.
A scrap paper of an identity
or many such scraps,
stained with the blood of mutilated self.
Red mingling with black.
Red smudging out the black of the, words,
-straining to describe myself-
were in an inchoate form,
when that stab of desire
slicing through the throbbing dullness
spilled the lifeless blood,
giving life, to the lifeless blood.
Lifeless dreams trickled through
the stupor of the sleepless night
-a night alive because of living desires
and a night dying because of dying dreams-
into that culvert and
past that dumpster,
where,you will find
a cache of my dreams
and the remnants of my being.

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