I was brushing my teeth

Distantly, I wonder whether

it is my face that I can see in the mirror.

Surrounded by fog, I stretch and contort; wipe at

the steam and dig for that person I thought I knew.

Romantic notions long-since disappeared. I swipe,

and swipe, and swipe–and

can’t see past the hands that aren’t mine;

there, but not there,

I’m myself but I am not myself.

One more body hits the

never-ending battleground.