Too used to sunlight when it doesn’t burn
This skin must belong to someone else
A smear of blood, on the side of the palm
Where it brushed against the nose
Just moments ago
The shedding might have hurt
If one had even noticed when the change occurred
Wandering around the rooms
Something in the mirror changed
Looking across the hall in to a stranger’s face
But nothing stays long true...
Sheets of used skin
Brushed under the bed
Step towards the halls
Where the power resides
Today the changeling turns
His face towards the sun
And changes the future
For a while, and maybe burn...
Screaming at the moon
Until the voice breaks
One step at the time
Sheds shame from the shoulders
Drives away the pain
To the corner of the eye
Hidden in plain sight
And if someone sees...
What could they really see?
What constitutes as change
The headaches and the bruises
Hold on to some strange clarity
Like a lesson in learned, deep in to the arcane
Hints of unnamed mythical terror
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