9 digit ticket

i weep inward with an outward expression

how do i—?

humanity dismembers itself from me like you, chipping away at an egg shell

but it’s me with the unsteady hand, the lack of ‘technique’

give it up, as you’re told, see how it’s done

why do i—?

you try it again, the other half, all alone

you take every outward part of me over to the garbage

and nothing but mystery is left, but there’s no wonder in finding anything beyond this point

how do i get it back—? or was i born for this to happen? do they understand i know myself less than a minute ago?

questions that won’t be answered by anybody because no one’s had the guts to ask them

clones of one another with different tag numbers will never warrant a ‘someone’

the only way to feel like a ‘someone’ is to be:

ready to die on the bed where you sleep rather than dream another dream— just to wake up hopeless again

because that’s not very numerical of you