It starts with a mottling of the extremities -
in some cases, minor tufts
of fur, like bread mould -
perhaps you find yourself
looking at your Saturday morning reflection and catch
a glimpse of another eye
behind your own, peering
out the iris like a lovely porthole.
Doctors will insist you have
'nothing to worry about' -
which has never been true -
only to get you out of their offices;
the fact is, this putty frame
could never hold you.
It's sloughing off like tallow.
At last, you're becoming yourself.
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