Hieroglyphic self

I am a broken sound,the equivalent of a muffled infant who suffocates to death all the while exhorting its mind and body for one moment of sonorous pleasure.The incomplete abyss of nothingness,hollow beyond measure,like vapors of smoke that dissolve into space and time,fading away in nocturnal bliss dimly aware of the world outside but thriving like a parasite on its pulsating self,waiting,perhaps for Godot or was it Todog?,into the unreal world of dissolving identities and makeshift masks,melting in moments,to reveal more masks until one day,there would be nothing left to reveal and thy imagination would wither like a worm on an Australian beach,forever shunning the epitome of existence and its few friends;never to look into a mirror for the fear,the heart wrenching fear of finally seeing the self but knowing that both the fear and the self are yet again masks,albeit much more sublime than their predecessors for they have now evolved like man and his coherent cognitive senses,yet again knowing that illusion again is but reality,only simplified for convenience and like smoke,it too,shall fade away leaving behind nothing but an acrid taste of truth,only to deconstruct the constructs and their intertwined fallacies.