In Regard To The Ship of Theseus, When Do I Become New?
 

i’ve seen it once before

a forbidden endeavor

i do not suffer in circles

i am in two of those an infinite response to woe

it was all that i wanted 

oh how blissful it was 

to be so concise

with all of my emotions

to have it be rounded and certain

however, when the glass is cracked

the water leaks, 

capillary actions takes it into all the available spaces

filling in, and making a new shape

with jagged entries and evokable possibilities

is it the moment, or the present that we remember

it has to pass for an available recall to be considered

i do not understand how I feel,

tenderly it is better that way

for if i did it would hold much more purpose

than what i have set to be comfortable

for the me that i have found is the available remains

the aftermath and scraps of all the wreckage

that every moment has left behind

every subliminal feeling that rises to the surface

every partial slip of paper that floats in the water

whose ink dissipates into nothingness

and smears the initial message into mundane raptures of thought

the endless and overwhelming possibilities, 

the what if’s

negatives and positives 

are the killers of the now

i lose myself to the ship of theseus, 

frightfully overwhelmed, and ever returning to this stagnant state

i don't want to be the partial remains,

i want to be what my current state views as inconceivable

remembering, inheriting, understanding 

all the people who i once was, could be, and am now.