ONLY A MONTH SINCE

He had supposed
he was

a somewhat reasonable
facsimile of  himself.

He had found he could
do a very good

impersonation of who
he used to be

impossible to tell
the difference.

He could smile on cue.
Laugh too.

But then only  when
deemed  necessary.

Perhaps just a little
off the mark.

A jaded see-through
kind of laughter.

There were too many
mirrors in this tiny room.

Offering too many
variations of a self

to choose from.

Escape from.

He found who he was...was
fa...fad. . .ing

as if he were the 1000th
photocopy of this self

he felt
bound to portray.


Betrayed by his own mind.


Only a month since


the funeral.