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An agonizingly slow descent to the floor,
Seven hours in total.
Gravity pulls me down.
On impact, I crack.

There was once a time where I stood upright,
Getting back up when I fell,
With only one or two small cracks.
I can count Seven different cracks, all from separate instances.

Those were the best times,
The times when the trips to the ground weren’t long;
Weren’t far,
And I knew I would once again be placed on my feet.

But now, as I try to pull myself up,
The pieces of me scatter:
Seven pieces,
Each echoing words in my heart.

They each reflect a face I know I’ve seen.
The faces are alike,
Yet different somehow.
Seven different faces I almost recognize.

Seven familiar strangers.
Each with a finite personality,
Each with only one emotion.
Seven different emotions in total.

I struggle to glue the pieces back together.
They are like puzzle pieces, almost.
But each one goes to a different puzzle.
Seven different enigmas.

The Wrath, The Lust, The Pride and The Greed.
The Gluttony, The Sloth, and The Envy.
A deadly Seven connected to my utter demise,
Yet I cannot mold them into a whole.

And so as I lay on the floor,
Staring into the faces of Seven different versions of myself,
I know that I can only be one of them.
Only one of the Seven can be real.

But somewhere,
Hidden away in the back of my mind childishly,
A toddler playing hide and seek,
There’s a though in my mind.

These Seven really never were one whole.