I come here to flip through the pages of my past
like a stranger in a strange world
a stranger in my own skin
a stranger to my own words.
I come here to gaze at the memories of who I was
to scratch the itch of remembering where I came from
like a stranger in my own pages
reading the words of someone else
living a life of fantasy
like a dream where you look in and say
"I wish that was me".
Stretched far too thin
I have become a stranger in my own skin
looking in
reading through the pages of my own story
some former kind of glory.
I come to scratch the itch of remembering
where I came from
recalling who I was
to scratch the itch under my skin
like reading a book that someone else wrote
trying to get lost in the fantasies of their mind
amazed that all of these words were once mine.
I have become
a stranger in my own skin
standing on the outside looking in
at what I was and what I have become
the words on these pages, familiar like a stranger's story
read time and time again until they become like a distant memory
of what should be
or what could have been.
My life has become a memory
and so I dip my fingers into the water and watch the ripples roll out
a moment in time
flipping through these pages wondering in amazement
that this was all mine.
Like staring through the mists into another land
I reach out for that feeling of just
being
and it slips through my fingers as I close my hands around it
a moment of forever in time
captured in words
a fantasy of what I was and what was mine
but I am a stranger here
a stranger to my mind
a stranger to the words on the pages I wrote.
A million tiny expressions of my soul
poured out through my fingertips over the years
like the soft rush of air from my lips
the firm grip of his hands on my hips
the feeling of chains stretching across my skin
the brutal kiss of the whip
the sensation of my soul drowning in his control.
Standing on the outside looking in
wondering at what is and what could have been.
I look into the mirror and I wonder at the woman looking back at me
eyes of a familiar color
no longer flashing the wild abandon of the lover
no longer reflecting the untamed wilderness of a soul
begging to be chained.
I am now
stretched too thin
standing on the outside looking in
I have become a stranger to the life I used to live
a stranger to the beauty of my own story.
I am
a stranger in my own skin.
