Really, I'm

I guess i don’t know what i’m doing.
I waver and sway between this and that;
hither and thither
to opposites and extremes, related only by my search
to find something in them.
Really, I’m none of these people.
really i’m this floating, naked ion
beneath clothes, shoes, hats and the images associated with whatever band i happen to be listening to at the time.
Really i’m tired, really i don’t know who “i” am.
This is all a lie and the truth is
that all of the people who are me,
and perform for me in this play
are nothing but pointless
different coloured
shouts in the dark that only confuse me.
Right now as I write everything slides around in the endless guitar feedback of undenyable relativity.
but we grip and hold on to insignificant fictional obsucrities, intricacies,
Like ropes trailing behind sailing boats, through the water
like a sea snake
that dissappears when you wake up.