here, into the web of things

where loneliness rumbles with despair

my mind weaves in and out through the corridors

of the secret room that lies within: a memory

a memory illusive to time as it expands and retracts

like the delicate sound of a ghost, the softness of an absence

into the abyss we go, to find all of which we've been trapped in

: ourselves, howling, isolated creatures, wild children

cyclically becoming, adhering to, and transforming

the spiderweb that spins in my head

leaving me torn between who I am now and who I was then

gathering all the different personas that lie within

a synergy that has left me wondering... If a river splits into two rivers, does it get a new name?