PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I don't know who I am

anymore,

each 

day I am someone different,

Adapting to the situation,

and putting on masks for 

different occasions

like a chameleon ever changing its colors,

I am never static,

I am never complete,

The mirrors are unclear,

and it is hard to see the face that is behind

them,

A shadow to myself,

chasing the ever fleeting image,

which nevers fully develops

in the dark room;

Disjointed experiences, emotions

and confusion, form the whole: a whole life filled with absurdity,

with no real reason behind any of it,

Just a body and a mind estranged to me,

always with me but never really a part of me. 

Just a chameleon with no real identity,

just a chameleon with no true color.

A cone-shaped body with a lizard-like head,

That is what Zoth-Ommog is.

Thick serpent-like tentacles

Growing from its head.

Pseudopods resemble starfish arms,

One on each side of the swarms.

Buried underneath the Pacific;

In R'lyeh: the corpse-city.

Deep Ones worship Zoth-Ommog,

Manifesting through many statues

Scattered randomly around the world.

A cone-shaped body with a lizard-like head,
That is what Zoth-Ommog is.
Thick serpent-like tentacles
Growing from its head.

Pseudopods resemble starfish arms,
One on each side of the swarms.
Buried underneath the Pacific;
In R'lyeh: the corpse-city.

Deep Ones worship Zoth-Ommog,
Manifesting through many statues
Scattered randomly around the world.

Woke one day, vision stretched;
barren skin, growing nails.
Bed had turned to pebbles, dirt,
with me beneath so cool, compact.
Thought to reach for glass to drink,
but claws could only grope the sand.
Grains to grip but thumbs have gone
and I can't seem to mourn their loss.
Seen the sun that floods the holes
where doors had stood the nights before,
stirring me, unburied there
and on four legs to skitter, scat.
Mouth gone dry - it tastes of flies,
but better to be filled with wing;
transparent as they flick and buzz,
pulled aloft by pinkened tongue.
Emerging from my hollow point,
loosen all my joints and bone,
and scamper at the waving trees;
they've turned to grass and sway by breeze.
The world engulfs me, consequence
of being small on land made large.
Greening at my outer edge,
yellowed on my belly bottom.
Sweeping carpets made of dust
to hunt for lesser; dodging more
and greater things on feathered tips
that dip from up above to catch.
My faculties are slow to leave,
instincts shake from dormancy.
I've witnessed first of setting sky
with eyes on the side of my skull.
My sense of scale diminished me
and left before I'm ruined, then.
Tomorrow I will know my prey,
or I may be prey to others.