People Who Don’t Exist

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
interfering darkness
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.

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