Who is who and who am I?

The problem seems to lie in the vicinity of me not knowing me.
What's my style? Is this it or is it something else?
What is my muse? Is it life, mine or in general? Or is it mind? Or perhaps stiil, an object of desire?
It may just be this..contemplating about something to be contemplated about.
No....that didn't come out right. I don't even know what i'm talking about. Trying to fill up an eternal place...like a jar of water with a hole in its bottom.
That does sound a lot like my mind..so is my mind my muse? For the last few words it does seem like that.

Suddenly its all gone..*pfft*..just like that. It all seems so ridiculous now.
The guard is back. The iron curtain has been drawn.