when I saw the fear and concern
on your face
as I started to lose--
my mind, I still thought I was smarter,
fought back against what I saw
as an accusation of my guilt.
I feel it even now,
a tightening and a clutching
a scrabbling of fingernails
as if I were in a horror movie
when the protagonist must
dig through the shallow loam
and dead leaves covering
his or her lost child.
Why can I not be
one of those who sees
their own truth so easily?
I'm just like the addict doctor on tv.
Or at least I like to think I am
because, he is smart enough
that people still like him despite his deformities,
of which he is able to keep from knowing too much.
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