it seems to me
that what we see
is never what it seems
seeming pointless
points drifting into convex structures
underestimating the sharp
tongues of my mind's eye
i repeated one night
alone in my bathroom
staring at my reflection
quivering, shaking
"it's not their fault"
"it's not their fault"
"it's not their fault"
"it's mine"
my body not seeming human
convulsing like a demon set free
my eyes no longer brown but black
lacking proof that life once lived
underneath this skin
the skeleton with hollow bones
the air flowing through
singing songs in minor
but deaf are the ones who listen
and dead are the ones who heard