Whose Life Am I Living?

I awake to the dawn of dusk in cool empty sheets

In the mirror I look at the face of an uncanny being

I move towards the breakfast table with six seats only to end with a quickly fleeing

I put on the clothes from my closet to wear

I breathe in the same air

My soul is quiet and listens to the young, the old, and the wise

My voice tiny and innocent and small

Listening to it change over years.

Witnessing many good and bad

Or doing deeds blameful and magnificent.

The more I try and supply.

Wasted on time and tears.

My eyes only see what life and God want.

But the question is why am I so daunt?

The people around me are foreign as the clothes they wear

The buildings are ashy and gray and unrecognizable for me to remember

The rules are no more, the streets are disheveled and town is nowhere

But I still celebrate differently every November and December

The new body I now dwell within sees and hear things that I never heard

Past sins are no longer a threat and ignored as they don't exist

Am I content or am I in my own personal confinement?

Does it mean I am vivacious or I am desist?

I think the question is whose life am I living?