Who am I?

The mirror you make me look into,

The photograph you want to recreate,

Or just someone you want to lock inside in a coffin,

Metres below in a graveyard,

Where you come and mourn?

Maybe I am there, listening to your bidding vows;

Or, I am scattered shimmer of hope on the grounds of sympathy.

Who am I?

The love you are expecting to feel normal,

The brain fighting between memory and identity,

Or the art of helping others to die well,

Slowly stripping me of my dignity,

Before the illness kills me?

Maybe I have the ability of lose everything we had,

Or, I am the recitation of an elegy to me, for me.

Who am I?


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