My Body

There are some things you can tell no one else.
You will face the greatest challenges on your own.
Death is the great cutter of ties.

All of the lines you have drawn connecting this dot to that will be severed. You will free fall in every direction simultaneously, feeling your insides as out and outsides as in and all of it burning dully no matter which way it flips.

To whom will you whisper all of your sweetness?
Who will share in the bitterness of returning to or running from the same empty house?

As you walk home you will find that you have always been the only one that has ever lived here. The agony, the loss of all of your frail dreams will wrap itself around you like an authentic mink stole.

At last you have the Real and now you remember that it is hideous and lonely. It is like looking into a humanoid face and discovering it has no eyes, no mouth or nose.
So familiar and yet so wrong.
But which aspect is the mutation? The alien, or the familiar?
Is it primordial to be lost, or at home?
What strange gravity is familiarity?
Who is left to ask questions when your lovely reptilian mind has been buried, wrenched from you as you drifted out of a far away dream?
If you jump trains before the last stop what will become of you?
As you wander in the twilight between the nowhere you know and the nowhere you fear, what are you?
If instead you allow the last ties to be cut without retreat there will be no more questions.
What is will be, what was shall be forgotten.
If you are present as you gestate in the stillness what will be born?