They watch with serpentine smirks,

Huddled in their perfect circles,

While you orbit the edges,

A cosmic mistake.

"Here comes the ghost," they whisper,

Their words needles in your skin.

Your spine curves earthward,

As if gravity itself condemns you.

They float through life synchronized,

While you stumble off-beat.

Born missing some vital piece—

A puzzle fragment lost beneath the couch.

Your voice, when it dares emerge,

Scrapes like rusty hinges.

Each syllable a betrayal

Of your fundamental wrongness.

The mirror shows a stranger:

Hollow eyes, crooked smile,

Features assembled wrong,

Like a child's crude clay creation.

Find your dark corner,

Curl into yourself,

The world turns smoother

Without your jagged edges.

But morning comes, inevitable.

Mask slides into place,

Practiced smile blinds like summer sun.

You are the greatest magic trick—

A darkness wearing light,

Performing joy so well

Even you almost believe

The performance.