Stepping Inside

I was cold,

she wrapped me in decisive

garments, a cloak,

a facade to bury the real.

 

I wanted more

with a condition,

the sale of my wares

would need recognition.

 

I said come in,

sit anywhere you like,

a sea of welcome anxiety

might be silhouetting the door.

 

I had nothing,

blank walls in vacant

stairs leading me

toward the ocean’s hell.

 

I wonder tonight

if fatigue with alarm

is the motivator

my shrink would suggest.

 

I have eyes,

several different sets of I’s

all of which

hold the key to my norm.

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