I am a translucent image.
No blood, no nerves,
Only visage.
Seen through glass
Tainted by reflections
That obscure me.
Through windows
With frames
That omit
The mazes
Of their gazes.
I am in the proof:
Blood that pours
From the wound
Of my erasure,
The mental cage
Of their frames
In my nerves.
I am invisible.
Not because I’m not there,
But because I am too much to see.


