who is this within for I am not I but I am me and me is I and I is not me so where is the fine line between you or I and why does it scratch my mind like a broken gear or a well-worn record so that the information is lost or remembered on repeat and torn asunder by the rocks of a crowd’s words and is the crowd you or I and why is it of importance that they let me know I know I am competent in my incompetence of this vocabulary structured thusly mostly it is pain that guides them to pain me to pain myself to bear sins and virtues I never committed and noble truths I read but never learned to plough in the field of morals for the tree of ethics to bloom for the seeds of kindness to be eaten but not be returned in kind as they are not kind but nice to the face yet holding a knife behind their back because sin is lucrative but perhaps the knife belongs to Schrödinger because just maybe they are not nice but kind enough to paint my fence so that I may garden in piece by piece the stone to furnish the sturdiest foundation I tell myself is possible but they want what I do not have or at least not yet so I find myself asking why can I provide for you what I want so desperately to provide for myself as it is so easy to act for another rather than me who cannot love oneself for they sought what I had and told me I could not attain and so I must exclude them from I want what they have to find that I want what I have earned and more so for them to disappear like mist in the sun yet I will miss them because being me by myself is lonely and pointless without one to share me with but their scythes hurt my fields and their hammers nudge the foundation because I made it to be strong enough to withstand a bomb but not the tide that follows a nuke so I will remember this place and try to think of the people who were here with me though they may fall through the industrial faults of the gears and grate on the record so that I may switch to the b-side for a more fresh tune in whatever is this thing called life