Mori

Upon reflection, I lose myself. My ceramic skin cracked and chipped. A crevasse of the hollow form distorts and drips. Features removed; the vast plateau of headspace remolded to become something disparate. I am not who I am. Perturbed, I droop like soften clay. Collapsing, the fragile form shatters into fragments of someone else. It reforms and repeats. Again. And again. And when the darkness comes, again.