Looking from the cornea of my eyes
I see them…
dark shadows of emptiness
depressing the keys of fear
lodged in the theatre of my heart;
I met with people who don’t exist,
first as a child
doing dishes on a breezy night;
standing on a stool
a wax light emiting an orange ambiance
and unforgivingly scrubbing.
At first, it seemed only as an
and then I coaxed myself
to think it was all in my mind’s eye.
But there they stood;
a vast number of them…
standing still at the corners of my eye.
Mom curled it my imagination…
“They don’t exist,” she enlivened.
I hugged her counsel and days
somersaulted into years.
But I still see them…
People who don’t exist…
When I gesticulate in absolute darkness;
they travel behind.
At times I reach out for my hinder
I know they want my soul and
I run yet mortals never know who pursue.