His Are Mine
I’m not me today the
Images I see staring back
Through my eyes at me
Resemble the man I know
To be the man I am well
Supposed to be but he’s this
Stranger his hands are mine
But I can’t feel the pen as he
Pens these thoughts these words
Aren’t mine they’re his the lips
I use to speak his soul are mine
The voice is still mine these
Suicidal thoughts aren’t his
They’re mine…
Copyright © Lyndell Cadasse | Year Posted 2007
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