i feel like a dream;
like the misty memory of some
mysterious face looming
in a corner, unnoticed.
those who notice me
pass me by
for i am only a ghost,
the weak wavering
matter of someone else’s memory.
my expression twists and
lurches and tangles itself into
a heap of unknowing, and my
heart heaves some lonely
ache-
if only i could
mimic those passing faces
and become whole.
but i am just a
disjointed ghoul;
a static soul unable to
tune in, and it shows
in my reflection.