Gone With The Dream

I awoke
Or thought I awoke
And looked into a mirror

Beneath my hat, near my hairline
A piece of folded skin like a postage stamp was affixed

I fiddled with it
And it unraveled in reverse origami

This fabric of skin
Was my face

It had retracted like a screen on a roller

Hyper-vigilant

I waited for the pain to start
Of exposed tissue on my nose, forehead, and cheeks
Worse than road rash or a thousand paper cuts

Nothing

Stretching the skin taut into a sheet
I pressed it onto my cheeks
Fixing it to my chin

I looked into the mirror

I was beautiful beyond charismatic handsomeness
With dark eyes and lusty facial hair
Like Rhett Butler

Minus the jeering snarky contempt for everything

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2 Responses to Gone With The Dream

  1. Kat says:

    All right, now you’re writing poetry. (I said so before.) Frightening, painful images, and at the last minute, funny.

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