Delving Into My Identity as Gray

Gin Consciousness
Is it that I ask too much?
Is it that my sense of self-worth or perceived destiny is inflated?
I expect so little.
I watch the swirls of liquor in the bottom of my glass as I tip it to my hesitant lips.
My soul disconnected, in hiding.
It’s wiser this way.
I curled my back against the beatings and somewhere along the way,
I’ve forgotten how to stand tall again.
So many walk with their faces toward the sky,
no fear it might reign down and strike them.
What is this reality that I can see into another, interact with it even,
yet never step foot in it?
I hold my now empty tumbler to my eyes, peering through
to the distortion on the other side.
What trickery is this that I am left alone in this tumultuous world with naught but the
instructions from some foreign land?
I am afraid.
I am always afraid.
In this world, the one they interact with but cannot see as I can see theirs,
the sky and the ground all lie in wait
for a moment to pounce and smother.