In His Chair
Images swirl
Like clouds
Amongst intoxicated reality
Small and withered
He always smiles,
So no one thinks
To worry for him.
He smiles as he knows
That the image they see
Is more blurred
Than any
From his own eyes.
Doesn’t want to say
That he’s slipping,
Slipping away.
And no one cares
Or even notices,
Because he never mentioned pain.
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