subtext

I’m in this snapshot

laughing at a party. 

I look old, like a skull 

embedded in a wall.

I do not know myself,

at least not enough 

to admit what I’ve done.

I deflect, disengage; 

yet, I am still there, 

disembodied: a voice, 

thin and transitional.

My splotched skin’s

stretched thin 

across my skull.

The bones show through

like field’s slow erosion.

I wear myself 

against the day, 

until I am erased.

(May 28, 2022)