Flesh Without Name

Merely existing dictates the condition of being shackled to an expectation of fleshly existence without my consent.

I was meant to be preserved in obscurity, 
not for this world of imposed tangibility.

If my self has never been corporeal, 
why should the vessel exist at all?

Who decided the necessity of the flesh—
that we must be contained in a prison of perceived appearance,
a vessel of assumption, 
of preconceived atoms—
if we will one day split and burst and evanesce, 
returning at last to the formless depths from which we came?