FETAL POSITION

A grown woman, a grown grown woman,

Naked with her hands between her legs,

Facing her knees, she is hiding behind them,

All curled up in fetal position.

Who would ever know who would ever see?

Locked behind solid mahogany and cold concrete,

She only cries when it rains and screams when it thunders,

There she lays curled up in fetal position.

Torn between essence and apathy,

She has no bible, no sanctuary, no friend,

She only has books, buildings and bodies,

So she retreats, curled up in fetal position

A woman of the world, she crowns herself,

Heart so desperately wicked seeking its own,

Bent under the weight of an ever present carcass,

She is curled up in fetal position.

She goes neither up nor down,

Hot nor cold. Midpoint,

On her side facing this way and that,

She is all curled up in fetal position.

Of all the things she is and speaks of,

Laying board straight in public view,

Is it still a lie is she is the only one who knows?

That she is all curled up in fetal position.

From inside and out it starts to show,

In the shadows of solitude,

She is faced by a reflection in the mirror,

Of a grown woman all curled up in fetal position.

…………………. Doppelganger.