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they're talking about me
like I'm not here.
moving in circles where
I'm not ever there.
what is this?
where am I?
its peculiar to feel
so self-aware
when I'm not even a shadow
nor a shape in the
background where the wind
moves through.
just
simply not there,
not anywhere.
where did I go?
why do they whisper?
why can I not make out
the breathy words they speak?
silent worlds make me
feel a whole lot less comfortable
although I am erased from
any place my eyes
seek.
odd.
what's going on?
there's a raising of cups
the joke's being explained
but I am not here to share in
the laughter's refrain.
there ,
over in the corner
two eyes are peering out from inside
of a box.
how electric a shock
to be
silent
to be
so not around...
questions pour out
of me in
an avalanche.
when
echoing, in the distance
a shrill alarm clock rings
and I arise almost Christ-like
from the tomb of
three days sleeping.
no box,
still fully assembled.
I've been
dreaming.
Copyright October 11, 2013
Melissa A Howells
All Rights Reserved By This Author
Meloo straight from her Tilt-a-World
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