Tomorrow I will walk off into the flourescent light for good
never again wearing the same shoes, thoughts or smile.
The clay shapers will mold another figure, thinner, weaker
shaken and crumpled, in need of a step stool to peer out.
With re-formatted database, my memory sense will falter
feed me implanted lies of the consensus, a replacement
childhood, substitute story of a life never lived, imagined.
Read me all around the sphere, then, see what you think.
The words that will cut and shave, clip and trim, make me
appear like the tale of an other who skinned another ideal.
And there will be no return to the sanity of reality, no truth.
For tomorrow I walk inside myself–again–for the last time.
In the gaze of the other 