the amazing fingertips!....

it's called hurt and it's called underneath awake....

it's called the terrible awareness....

I hold on....

it's called blind and mental!

it's called the horrible understanding....

I may never arrive

...I am holding on!

I never tried to let go....
it's pure luck my hands help my....heart

and so shattered my identity is an imperfect gloom...

...there is little left but the ends of my fingers

hanging on for dear life

Identity lost. Might be an ok thing, maybe not socially acceptable.
But Buddhists would say shed the ego. It's illusion.
Shed the shell. Nothing no one could hurt you more than what you've already endured.
I do wish you'd drink less. Alcohol demons frighten me.
You may be the handsomest big bear of a man I've ever known.
Just so physically gorgeous. And so smart with a huge heart.
That's my identity for you. It's still illusion.
The real you is your soul, fragmented through time & space over the ages, combined with others and then fragmented again amidst lifetimes.
I feel like a fragment. Incomplete in this life. But for some reason I have to live it.
I think I may have let go somewhere and am flowing along a river rush not really caring where it goes. It is gonna go where it's gonna go. Let the flow take me where it will.