Frayed identity

The cracked plastic badge holder

catches the dying light,

fractures running spiderweb-thin,

a slow unraveling in slow motion.

I tug the lanyard loose,

frayed threads hanging loose,

tangled like the day’s tangled hours.

Each crack a whisper

of worn-out badges,

of faces seen and forgotten,

a brittle sign pinned to skin

that’s already peeling.

I don’t know who I am

but I’m starting to lose the proof.