the hands / the bonds / the pages—  
never mine  
but bound to me like scripture I forgot to believe in.  

the verse never repeats,  
but always paints  
in colors I don’t remember choosing.  

mirrors offer nothing but  
faces that echo mine  
without ever becoming me.  

torn into fugues / scattered into names—  
each one dragging me somewhere new,  
directionless,  
but always away  
from wherever I might be.