Silent, they shoulder me aside
mushrooming up from the dark spaces.
They color my world in different hues
and beat my heart different places
Hidden, yet flagrantly exposed
In every thought, action or pretense
My face becomes the flesh toned mirror
that reflects every resistence
They hollow laughter, belie calm;
with coldest fingers stroke the bones
then squeeze, so gently, in tandem
to each drawn breath that won't atone
They live within, these cloudless gods
more familiar than a lover's touch,
know me better than my own intent,
manipulate me far too much
for any hope of masquerade.
~Morgan Daltry
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