Distorted images,
still in my head, face after face.
Who? Why? When?
Some seem so unreal;
Is my mind playing tricks? Or
is it just another night? Another
dream you wish it was,
but the window reality, slippery tiles.
I touch my eyes, my own face
distorts, slowly, bit by bit, I move
my hand.
Shapeless grin, foggy sight
I am what I am, and yet there is
a promise
to go back, to re-live, to re-do;
there is not a chance
up the current no little fish can swim.
So I join them, slowly,
forceless legs, weak and tremble,
holding arms, or are we not?
The distorted dance, I should
not, but I have to now.
The shapeless smiles, distorted
masks.
Clap!














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