The waves of my thoughts

I slowly drift on the waves of my thoughts The rocks that I bump into Are sharp and hard But some spots are covered with green moss The assiduity of the never ending flow The incessant onslaught of garbage That floats along with me On that river of my thoughts We are what we make ourselves to be We can be whatever we want to be Who are we really, Behind our pressured imagination and creation? Did I make myself? Did I create myself? The rocks don’t provide me with an answer and the garbage just drifts So do I, simply float, my jaw held stiff The river is like a mirror And I cut myself on its sharp edges The blood leaves behind me, a crimson trail Of uncertainty, of unknown