I Am a Stranger

I wake up in the ocean of a stranger’s bed
The walls show bands and films I am utterly indifferent towards;
The wardrobe full of clothes I have no memory of buying.
I dress, and it has the feel of putting on a disguise
The fabric smells wrong, like an intrusion – her perfume, her skin, her sweat
The person in the mirror is just a body – not my own
Downstairs, there are people waiting
They care about this body so I pretend
When I interact with them, I’m reading from an internal script
I say what I am expected to and smile at the appropriate moments
I do not love my parents
I do not love myself
I am a stranger.


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