Wash me Camouflage

Fragmented dreams tell me
that I am someone else.
Shards of memory lie to me,
telling me I'm not who I say I am.
But I'm not speaking.
I'm not saying who I am.

Pieces of me are scattered
on the wet sidewalk.
The rain is coming down.
But I am already down,
breaking like so many crystal balls.
Breaking on the blackness of my life.
Who shattered my world?

Flattened pictures define who is me.
Twisted images pretend
to be what I am not.
Never-ending mirror images play
tricks on my mind,
laughing at the person I might try to be.

The fingers point and curl mockingly.
They know they have the upper hand,
for I am always so afraid of taking more
than one timid step in any direction,
for fear of running into a glass wall.

Wash me with colors and make
me something different, so that
no one will recognize who I
once used to be.
Create for me a camouflage so
deceiving that everyone will think
it is my true skin.

Let me hide
beneath a mask, so that anyone
who tries to get close to me
will be misguided past all hope
of ever seeing the true person inside.
The soul hiding in the shadows
makes no difference
anyway.