Jan 11
Ink Scribe's picture


I live further away than far
and am beyond - recognition
from when you last laid eyes
on my solitary shape.

My eyes are not mine
and my thoughts even less so;
this here - one thought -
happiness that never belonged
to me.

My eyes -soft green moss
are windows into a soul
far more vibrant than mine;
green was always a pretty color
but it was never worn by me.

Hands -mine in yours- but
not mine (someones)
do they fit the way you've always
imagined them to?
My hands never
could but theirs might.

My arms are strange; graceful
shapes, alien, I've never held
arms this way before -on the brink
of flying but these bones were
never built for such a thing-

I hate this- I don't
recognize anything anymore
did I (lease?) this (me?)
to someone else I
-can't remember.