With the Fingers of One Hand

With the fingers of one hand
I count the souls that have seen mine.
For that reason they come close,
some even stay,
and for the same reason they run away,
some leaving no trace.

They are scared to look at themselves in the eye,
for if they do they would have to be reborn,
better to escape then, than to feel such pain.

So I’ll just continue to wander,
trying to find the balance
between expressing myself freely
and keeping things concealed.

I have no more fingers left.
I’ve grown tired of the game.

Perhaps in another life
things will be different.

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