It has the lightness of a feather.
As if I were devoid of all grins and weapons, of all hues and scars.
Pain, shame, tears, and teeth are hidden beneath a white mask, in a blank black.
What happened to my stories, documents, and words?
Even my lies vanish...
Were my walls, logs, and broken compass not here?
When did the road begin to diverge?
What am I doing here?
What exactly am I?