What is seen

What is seen

Is already dead

The outer layer

Flaking away

Piling around our feet

The weft

Of a carpet

Heavily worn

Carried in dust moats

Strips torn

With every taunt

Pieces of self

Fall away

Shed as a chameleon

Adapting

To surroundings

Old selves

Haunt dreams

Unremembered

As in waking

The moment is passed

Nothing remains

But the smell

Of disappointment

As a familiar self

Grows out

From beneath

The old

Everything seen

Has already gone

And not

For the first time

We are found

Wanting.