Mirror mirror on the wall,
let’s play my favorite
game of all,
before we all fall
down in shining shards.
Good morning, ghost;
how did you
become a ghoul?
You still have a body,
meat on bone
wrapped in a sack
of skin;
your eyes still sadly see,
trapped in a small world
sick room behind
watchful windows;
your jaw still moves
from side to side
amazed.
How far back
can you trace
transparency?
Did it happen all at once,
one cataclysmic day?
Or did you fade
a little at a time,
grow smaller,
paler, better
hidden with
each hurt heart?
Did you recede
into unreality
so far
that nothing
could ever
feel
again?
wow! what a poem!
Thank you.