Temporary Custody

In the mirror, I glance at a face that feels borrowed,

it echoes a life I’ve never truly followed.

A vessel on loan, yet the thoughts feel so real,

a stranger inside with emotions to conceal.

I wonder if others see more than the shell,

as whispers of truth in this body dwell.

Can I borrow your eyes, can you share in my skin?

What if the flesh holds the stories within?

Every inch feels foreign, like layers of dust,

this body is transient, it crumbles, it rusts.

Yet the spirit keeps fighting, aching for voice,

longing for clarity, a sense of pure choice.

Is this how it goes, drifting through night,

a passerby’s heart in a world wrapped in light?