I’m outside myself

And can’t find the inside

But I like it this way

There’s less responsibility

Less worry

Less concern

Fewer thorns in my mind



Everything is numb

Dulled and subdued

I’m adrift and lost

Without a care or purpose

Yet completely composed

And more myself than anyway else



Yet familiar


Yet nothing more

Than the composition of what already existed

My legs follow themselves

The world is beneath Saran wrap

My ears stuffed with ringing cotton balls

My limbs belong to someone else

Someone who knows the way home


I’m shivering

But don’t feel the cold


But my shoes

Are more aware of the pavement than I am

They know every step

We’ve walked it before


I am firmly convinced I am in a dream

Reality just beyond my reach

Shadows on the fringes

I’d appreciate a switch to turn it off

But it’s all too real

I know that much


Photo by Ant Rozetsky on Unsplash.

2 thoughts on “Walking Home

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