I
have trouble maintaining eye contact
lucky
if I can hear half of what's said
you'll
find me in constant conversation
thanks
to the voices in my head
I
became one with the shadows
where
reality was dangling on a thread
got
accosted by visions of mutilation
the
black in the sky was a murder overhead
breath
cut short, inhaled dead air
it
was toxic, saturated with dread
I
felt infected, highly contagious
a
host to a virus that I quickly spread
Copyright © 2015 by
Patrick B Vince
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