Every time

I discard my skin,

Absolve myself

Of disposable identities,

The craters at my core

Fracture,

Just a little more.

The miles on my spirit,

Divide the real

From divine.

Misguided

Of who I am,

Or who I will become.

Every destination

Requires a different me.

And when I'm not inside

The mask behind

Which I hide,

I see

A sliver of me.

As shiveled as he could be.

Overripe,

Almost rotten.

As I mold another me,

What the eye can see

Is incomplete.

Undersized eyes,

Massive nose,

Body an abomination.

But he will be nourished.

And we will flourish

Anew.

Until then,

I have fashioned a mask

In the likeness

Of us.

The changeling no longer.

Just him

And I