The Man Who Doesn't Belong

He wakes in a bed that isn’t his,
though it has always been.
The ceiling stares back, blank,
as if it, too, has forgotten him.

The world moves without asking,
spinning him into its rhythm,
his hands gripping nothing,
his feet dragging forward,
because what else can they do?

Outside, voices weave into each other,
a language he should understand
but doesn’t.
Laughter rings out like a song
he was never taught to sing.

His reflection in the window
looks back with tired eyes,
a face worn down by the weight
of days that do not change.
If he screams, will the glass shatter?
Will the sky notice?
Or will it all remain
as still, as silent
as he has always been?

Somewhere, someone is living.
Somewhere, someone is free.
But he is only a shadow
moving through a world
that does not see him,
that does not care if he stays
or if he disappears.

Reviews

[Everett Dulin]

Sometimes freedom is the knowledge that you aren't seen. Trust me on this though, the sky will notice, and the loop doesn't break. You'll always look back, and it will always be the same.