many facesDissonance by Randy Wayne Spire

My mind, derailed

is not my own

for several others

call it home.

In random thoughts

I buck and bray

forgetting remembrance

anew each day.

My hands, adrift

much like my feet

denying me solace

self-aimed deceit.

And still I feign

use all my will

playing at normalcy

each breath a pill.

You don’t see it

nor do you smell

the fabric of my strife

my living hell.

Eyes averted

with distant stare

our mutual greeting

all teeth, no air.


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