The Hologram

Image

What is left of me
but the hologram I see?

Empty frame
where my portrait should be…

But I am elegant
in the ways I twist, and I bend,
and I take the shape of something
I should not have been.

Stretch, to see what is left in me
in the absence of dreaming.

Catch my scattered thoughts,
and save them all
inside the box that I keep

underneath my bed,
where I don’t sleep.

Clear my mind,
and try to recall what color is like
when, all I see are transparent shapes
like me.

Stretch, to see if I’ll ever be free of
the absence of dreaming.

For nothing is as it seems,
and nothing is real at all.

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About John Chronikal

John Chronikal is a blogger, storyteller, poet, artist, composer, and songwriter. He loves to drink bourbon and write things that make his poor grandmother cringe. He is a gigantic man –– his bear hugs can crush bones –– but he is a gentle giant. Give him bourbon and chocolate and he will be your bestest friend forever. View all posts by John Chronikal

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