Composite

I woke up one day, and I was someone else.

Or used to be someone else,

it’s hard to tell.

Image by lisaleo at Morguefile

I woke up as someone I don’t know,

perched on a high stack of stills

depicting who I was yesterday,

last week,

the month before,

a stack I’ve been watching grow taller

and more wobbly

ever since.

I watch the sunset fill the room with the same eyes,

but different feeling.

I touch the ground with the same feet,

but different meaning.

I have this strangest feeling

I’m not me,

and never really was,

because that me I’m talking about

was just a fairy tale.

It didn’t exist.