The Emotional Orphan

Shapes, shadow, form.
Visible but not present.
I can see him.
No one else can.
They don’t believe me.

I swear I knew him before.
He just never knew me.

Heat waves
and a scorching sun
reveal an outline.
Oasis, salvation.
Nothing, hallucination.

He spends time
looking for the boy,
to reshape him-
form clay from
mud that was.

He says he is
a widow maker
to the reality I don’t like.
As if I am married to it.

I close my eyes.
It hurts to see so clearly
Finally I sleep.
The invisible man remains,
never to be seen again.

Walls close in.
Neutral pastel colors envelop
they say to calm my nerves…
not because i cant see him,
but because I can.
(they believe me about that –at least )

As the vitamins kick in
no one is left
alive
that can teach me
how to bleed.