Halloween

I’m standing up

with my feet on the ceiling,

avoiding eyes

so no one can see me.

I don’t feel like myself

and no one looks like who they are,

but when do we ever,

when does anyone ever

show themselves.

The way I romanticize

is a pastime,

especially when it’s about you.

I make believe

like it’s Halloween.

Dress up, get drunk, get down

in a room full of strangers.

We’re all accepting and pretending

like our actions won’t shoot into tomorrow

because we are someone else tonight.

What’s the point in chasing my nightmares

when we run in circles?

My facade is quite suffocating,

that fabric on his chest is quaint,

you’re nowhere to be found.

The character I play is better

than who I am everyday.

Maybe one more sip

will make the fog in my head go away,

and I can cover up the cold.