• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 08
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Playing The Game

Perhaps it is better if I never go back,
to that place where the water is blue.
Maybe I will stay here,
surrounded by love
if that's what they call it these days.
I thought I was sleeping,
I thought it a dream
But maybe I took a misstep
(just too far...)
Perhaps it is better if I don't speak or write,
for these people I'm with now,
write strangely, speak soft.
The game it is set up,
what would have been Scrabble
but I took a nod,
and I dare not play now.
You can tell by their eyes,
if eyes you can call them.
You can tell by the hair, by the skin,
by the manners.
What seems like a line,
so simple, a square,
Well something goes through it
like apples and rot.
I just took my eyes
for a blink
(so I thought)
but now I'm not certain,
what 'human' means.


Playing The Game

And if I go back,
will what I am be the same?
Will a hand be a hand,
will a thought be a thought?
The light it is funny,
the rooms they are rooms,
but something's amiss.
I must say.
Maybe I'll blink,
maybe I'll wake,
maybe I'll run,
if I can get away.
Perhaps it is better if I never go back,
to the folk who aren't crooked
like this.
They might not expect,
they might not accept
this way, or that;
two legs and a head,
Where does it go?
Why is it here?
What is this thing
that I am...?