fabrication

Author's name: Yahya Ahmed

I go back and remember everything, did all of that exist or was it made up? I had to doubt it.
In all that I have been through. Did I have to live this entire incomplete life, striving in it to fill that deep emptiness of what I desire, even if what will fill the emptiness of my need for all that fullness will only be complete for me to move still, even if it is to death. Was I imprisoned through the past words? And was my entire life a prison that I changed its furnishing each time so that I could try to live in it far from the monotony of its repetition? Was it the jailer here and there, and in my imagination? Who am I now, a prison?
Who made me and led me to this end?