Is the unknowable unknown
the scariest place?
Is it that language doesn’t travel there?
Why rock the boat?
Why waist the time?
Why not stay the same?
Is realization that desirable?
I can’t travel there? Feelings get go but I can’t?
Am I made of language?
So is this what it’s like to be
something that doesn’t take up any space?
A name an identity a host a planner.
What will I do with myself when I die?