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Alone
There are things he can’t put to paper
because people read him in the dark
when he shuns infiltration
as an aspirin in a glass of water
shuns mingling but eventually releases
its bubbles one by one skywards
hoping to escape that way
Ghosts, doves, prayers,
pieces of himself
inert for decades
suddenly release trapped air
A child walks backwards
down a closed street
darkness and voices slither
from clenched branches
Jeers in their mouths
as they push him underwater
in the deep end
panic in throat
death roaring in ears
Hiding in a closet
overhearing secrets
gagged with shock
waiting to die
wondering where death is
and how could the world exist
without his eyes
And the blush of acne in the mirror
and not knowing how to dance
being too short
and the sticks and stones of names called
as if they know who he is
and he doesn’t
And when he can’t find himself
because he’s dissolved in them
wondering how a bottle of pills
would dissolve in a glass of water
and not having the courage
to close his eyes
© Johnmichael Simon
2006
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