Split Personality

She blows in like sand.
Her words drift alongside mine,
nudging them into parenthesis
until, dizzied by the dialogue,
the gabble and babble,
the rabble of words,
I do what she asks.

She sends me out gesticulating
at strangers. Her eyes staring
through mine unnerve them
and I try to explain that it is
she who is cantankerous.
I am her mouthpiece.
She uses me.

I think she must have jagged bones
for she settles like broken glass,
a persistent grist in the soft flesh.
She cups my heart, stuffed full of secrets,
and squeezes until they spill
through her fingers and out into the light.

She comes and goes,
taking my time with her
and what I remember of her
is a bird's-eye view, looking down
upon her slipstream as she veers away.