And suddenly
my face is stone.
I am still.
I have no control over my cheeks,
my smile.
My eyes are open
but I’m not seeing.
My lips are quivering,
my nose shivering,
but nothing’s coming out.
Rictus has set in.
I am in stroke.
I am gone
while still right here
in this moment

I am not a man now
but a sounding board
a conduit for your feelings
any whims you might choose to express.

I am not any of the things
I anticipated at the start of this day.
All the hopes and expectations
have dissipated
while I remain, reduced,
reinterpreted into stone
and shame.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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