Panning across that great blue sea,
pangs of loneliness sound like drums, but
fluttering aimlessly.
I am a stranger in my own home.
Home is infested with a parasite called Me who
stalks at night under lonely moonlight shade,
no sound except for the scratch of claws against ice and glass.
Me calls out, afraid in the way that a child is afraid when they have
lost their mother's hand at the grocery store, the aisle a ghostland
of corpses crawling towards Me whose head twists like a screw,
looking for mother.
Mother is talking to a friend, and she laughs, and
isn't Me so strange? Goodness, look at her.
The moonlit darkness evaporates until there is only a ghostly grey light, illuminating
everything, sterilizing surfaces until no
ripples are detectable underneath the glass ice.
YOU ARE READING
A Touch of Wonder
PoetryA book of poetry filled with thoughts, experiences, and emotions. "As I walk down the slippery street, My face streaming with tears, The sadness can barely be sustained. But you suddenly kiss away my fears, My dear umbrella in the rain."
