There are strangers at the windows
They wear the faces of friends
But the skin fits loosely
and I heard them meet their ends

It was rare at first, the odd complaint
A ceaseless itch beneath the skin
soon the muscles were not their own
their screams strained through rictus grins

They insist it is so much better
A life with such clear direction
It is still them, happy inside
I must simply let go of my connection

It would be so simple to do
To let go of my concern and control
but instead I draw the curtains
and hope that my defences hold

I am unhappy and I am scared
but they are my own experience
For now I am my miserable self
not blissful in bridled deference