Oh Thing
My eyes seem to be yours.
Whom do I see?
Old. Stooped.
Is this a looking-glass?
Or am I in a dream,
where I believe
that I am I
and you are you?
Then who are you,
oh thing?
What are you gazing at,
oh thing?
You stoop to leer,
peer at my eyes,
ogle my parts.
You know, you know,
oh thing,
and mock!
So am I to wake,
and feel the weight of memory of this,
taste it, smell it, but be rid of it?
Or must I remain
in this mocking world,
feeling kilo on kilo of me,
oh me,
oh thing?
(April 2022)
Copyright © Andrew John | Year Posted 2022
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