third-person bios & other selfhood crises

the spirits of wicks burn out as midnight oil seeps into unwritten letters

to shadowed souls as necromancers dance before my glazed eyelids

and i could sit here, morose and awash as verses flash lightning

pulling back the curtains of this fated soliloquy

the task lays before me: gargantuan but what i perceive it to be

“along with your submission, please include a brief third-person bio of yourself”

and it’s a sliver at first- a crack through daylight, a heavy foot out the oaken door

doubts swiftly arise from the earthen floor and form storm clouds- penetrating

and the sweet irony hits me- a tidal wave of questioning beliefs [inner self, really]

to define to not to define, i sift apart grainy interests, needles prodding about

among mounds of hay. simplicity eyes me out of her darkened corner- i dare not

face her. shrivelled up, tantalus embodied and silken fruit just before my reach

crumpled papyrus lies and half-truthed rants lie at my bedside

and the lamp flickers, violet and resplendent but does not die out

perhaps resilience wasn’t elusive, but inanimate. oddities and quirks

i weave in, grasping at memories, could they water these barren limbs?

and words, i yank them out one by one

i am no magician, a scarf at my sleeve as birds flock to my unfaithful side

and this- the result-

name, age, profession [student, writer, poet?]