There’s a wall of sobriety separating me from my flesh.
Sometimes its so thick I think never the twain shall mesh.
Au contraire! Though hard to bear, the truth must sound.
On some occasions, hopefully rare, the wall wears down.
And I find myself in touch with me; flesh: found.
There’s a looser me that dogs me every day.
A shadow stalker that watches while held at bay.
And she’ll wait. Without debate her patience is legendary.
If I hesitate I’ll be caught by my adversary.
And she is me. And we’ll be in touch. And I find that scary.
The other me is an evil grotesquerie.
A cunning deception masked by civility.
And you all? The wall that keeps her way
Is no small feat. It saves me day after day
From her lies; for they would hold me in sway.
The me I know is an obese, hungering thing.
All she wants to do is eat, drink and sing.
Unruly and rude, with many a crude ambition;
Of selfish moods, which never involve contrition.
Thank god she can’t reach me from her side of the Holy Partition.
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