The soft apologetic grey of evening
squeezes me out from where I’ve sat so long
safe from prying minds but close to the shimmering edge.
A gaunt and prowling night cat,
I stalk these polished streets alone,
meeting the face of my fear
in each gleaming surface. I cringe
from the masses of promised life
that hunt in packs on every side;
I rush back home where my mental bags
are ready and waiting by the door.
I’m still not sure I’m even really here
and I think that someone’s moved my things around,
but my shadow nods and waves politely
as it always does. The same old vulture
swoops low to tear me up by the roots
and beats its bloody wings around my head
while it pours its sickly sweet taste in my mouth.
I sip each day from a gritty cup;
outside they are many, in here I am one.
Published in Drawn to the Light
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