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Psychopath

Alan Ford

A monster who looks like us,
your face half in shadow
a strange formless enigma
like a fake ID.

I want to peel the layers
off your face,
expose the beast
that lives underneath.

a pathological liar
your promises broken
impure and untrue,
truth is in exile.

you’re out of moral shape,
a bent coin in a straight slot
a one-armed bandit
a broken down illusion

you are the centre
of your world
I am a bystander
in my own life,

you live on the edge
you balance on a chasm
I fear I will topple
into your darkness.

my unopened letter lies
burning in your hearth,
shrivelled up paper
in the flames of your life.

you’re a fractured figure
mirror reflection warped,
I can’t’ fit any more
into your world.

you cannot be cured.
I make a fast retreat
I burn your letters
I cast you off.

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