I don’t know my name. I don’t understand why I’m still here, pressed to these bones. Why didn’t I fall away like everything else long ago? Dust is the only thing freed from the end of this rope.
I don’t know my name. I don’t understand how I can feel this weight pressing down on me. How I can know that poison fills every piece of me. That there is much work to be done.
I don’t know my name. I don’t understand the lack of loss for all the things stripped away. Was it all just a cloak with a name? Could I be, have I always been the Skeleton with in?