I am becoming Nobody.
If I step out of the game, the pieces will not fall
like yellow plastic pawns clattering to the floor,
checkered cardboard tearing down the middle like the red sea
allowing them to pass.
I will slip away,
strip my soul of plastic,
and realize that no one has noticed.
Is that so bad?
Being Nobody makes it easy
to laugh at the Somebodies, to throw pebbles at their windows
and sing the siren song of change.
Nobodies move like water between the cracks
filling every shape until they are not enough
and sink into the dirt.
Somebodies clasp their corpses in iron boxes;
even after death
they hope to never change.