Crippled.
Poised for nothing than more than sin
Allowances made, shutting out light, life, and self.
These crutches hold me in an upright illusion.
Where have I gone?
Have I left at all?
Search the husk; be gentle in your task
The man you may find is frail, broken and masked.
Scrape the flakes of my outward shell,
Take great care, as my skin is not as thick as it once was.
I reside in myself; a wraith within the walls of my own flesh
Bone has been my cage for far too long.
Touch my hand; guide me back.
Unnourished marrow snaps as twigs underfoot.
Clasp your hands over my eyes; shelter me from the harsh brilliance of day
My weakness craves the night,
yet hath not the power to hide itself anymore.
Let me rest now, and when I wake may no mirror regard me.
May answers arrive in sleep that elude my waking hours
For I long to wake from this reality, that is so clearly not my own
Perhaps soon, the mirror shall reflect kindly upon me once again.
- J.G.Smith (09/30/05)
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