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Ere the break of dawn
I gather scattered pieces of my soul,
And painstakingly set them all together
As I try to build myself whole.
But which whole self would that be?
I wonder, staring at those eyes
That blankly stare right back at me.
Who is that? Is it I?
A construction of the past
A transcription of my code
I watch that person slowly age
Alas! I have suddenly become old.
There is no time to be made!
And so my tearing eyes slowly shut
I try to lock into that one image
To be that one person I want.
But my brother, father, and mother come to visit
I am spliced into three
You smile and tell me that you love me
I am spliced unto thee.
There is no hope for ourselves
There is no Self left to hope
As the candle burns through the night
And we dangle upon Nietzsche’s rope.
Alone, in the dark of night
I scatter gathered pieces of my soul,
As I manically take them all apart
And thus undo myself so.
* poema inicial do livro Um caco de telha
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