Skinwalker

I feel like I watch myself from far away,

A ghost inside a role I’m forced to play.

This body fits like borrowed flesh and bone,

A face I wear that was never my own.

A hollow canvas, riddled with fear,

An actor trapped performing year by year.

Each day I stitch expressions to my skin,

Pretending something human lives within.

Fear curls like smoke and settles in my veins.

I dread the day the mask finally wanes,

And the cracks beneath my smile begin to show.

The truth beneath the surface starts to grow.

In crowded rooms, I watch them come alive,

So natural in ways I can’t describe.

Their laughter spills out easy, unconfined,

While I rehearse the lines I’ve memorized.

And so I mimic every gesture, every glance,

Rehearse their little habits like a dance.

Until the act becomes a part of me,

Or all that’s left for them to see.

But something feral scratches deep inside,

A restless creature I can never hide.

It claws against my ribs with sharpened teeth,

A living thing that twists beneath.

Have they noticed how my shaking hands betray

The fear that I am slipping every day?

The way my voice begins to crack and fray,

Like worn-out fabric tearing day by day?

I stand beneath bright lights and force a grin,

Projecting confidence I’ve never owned.

Convincing everyone I’m real somehow,

While losing more of who I am right now.

But when the night arrives and curtains close,

The silence blooms like a wilting rose.

No audience remains for me to fool,

No stage, no script, no practiced ridicule.

I face the mirror in the dark alone,

A blurred reflection carved from flesh to bone.

A stranger staring back with hollow eyes,

As if we’re both made up of fragile lies.

And all that lingers when the act is done

Is one question I can’t outrun:

After pretending through each passing day,

Was there someone beneath the role I played?