DRIFT / GHOST / NUMB / MASK

A Micro-Chapbook

I. Drift

Dying on the inside

like I've always felt

Reality matches fiction

absorbing the blow I dealt

lost in the sea

with no purpose to be

drifting alone

a single hooked smelt

II. The Ghost Self

I lost the me I am to see

the me that follows closely behind me

not a shadow 

not a wind

not a stranger

and not a sin

It's the me I never got to know

The seed that never got to sow

a punctured dingy

a life lived mingy

III. Numbing Rituals

I get high to avoid the shame

I get drunk to avoid the blame

baseball without rules

winter without gouls

follow me down the path

wallow in primordial bath

IV. The Mask

Invisible restriction

life-altering contradiction

strapless satisfaction

addition by subtraction

facial frowns 

upside down

the mask you see

isn't me

NOTES ON THE CYCLE

This cycle moves through four states of being that mirror the internal landscape of someone living with long‑term trauma, masking, and self‑loss.

I. Drift - The opening section sits in disorientation — a life lived from the inside out, where numbness and directionlessness become familiar terrain. It’s not about giving up; it’s about floating because sinking or swimming were never options.

II. The Ghost Self - Here the work shifts into grief. Not grief for what happened, but grief for the self that never had the chance to exist. This is the heart of developmental trauma: mourning a version of yourself you can feel but cannot access.

III. Numbing Rituals - This section exposes the coping — not glamorized, not condemned. Just named. The ways you’ve learned to quiet shame and blame become their own rituals, their own temporary shelters. It’s survival, not indulgence.

IV. The Mask - The final section reveals the structure holding everything together: the mask. The performance that kept you safe, the persona that became automatic, the version of you the world sees while the real self stays hidden. It’s the contradiction of being visible and invisible at the same time. Together, these four movements form a closed loop — a portrait of a self divided, numbed, concealed, and still reaching for recognition.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

These pieces were written from a place where memory, emotion, and identity overlap. They aren’t confessions and they aren’t metaphors. They’re records — fragments of what it feels like to live split between the self that survived and the self that never had room to grow. Nothing here is exaggerated. Nothing here is softened. It’s simply the truth of what it feels like to move through the world wearing a mask that became second nature, carrying grief for a self that never had the chance to exist, and using whatever tools were available to quiet the noise inside. This micro‑book isn’t about despair. It’s about recognition. About finally naming what has been lived silently for years. About seeing the shape of the mask — and the person underneath it.

TARNISH / CLARITY / DRIFT

A Micro‑Chapbook

I. THE ACTOR STEPS OUT OF FRAME

actors emotions

reaching the end of the tracks

dissociation

A role slipping.

A mind stepping sideways.

The first crack in the mask.

II. PETTY VIRTUE, BITTER TASTE

using a coaster

saving trees that have succumbed

whoop-tee-fucking-doo

slow sip of the mug

Hero's virtue weighed in waste

silver spoons sweet taste

The small rituals of “goodness.”

The hollowness of performance.

The sweetness of indulgence over pretense.

III. METAL, WINTER, AND THE BODY

few thrifted silver

tongue dives deep, touches liver

warmth felt in winter

glimmer fades with time

beauty dims from grease and grime

fallen stars still shine

vintage life vanish

tarnished varnish bears no crutch

exposed elegance

Decay as truth.

Tarnish as memory.

Beauty surviving its own erosion.

IV. STILLNESS BREAKS

breath not advancing

motionless, frozen, standing

squeak, squeak, squeak, yelling

The moment before the crack.

Silence straining.

The world exhaling through its teeth.

V. CONTROL, ERASE, ENDURE

dry erase the days

stay ahead of the bullseye

plan the pain away

dry erase for pain

take two and call me in the

each day brings new shame

Trying to manage the internal weather.

Trying to stay ahead of the next hit.

Trying to rewrite the day before it writes you.

VI. DRIFT AND RETURN

crossed a bridge today

lost focus in rocks whiskey

didn't think look back

A lapse.

A moment of drift.

A mind wandering off the path and returning quietly.

VII. THE ACTOR RETURNS, ALTERED

have a cry today

clarity is rarity

actors emotions

The mask comes back on —

but it doesn’t fit the same way.

The role has changed because you have.

NOTES ON THE CYCLE

This micro‑chapbook moves through three textures:

Tarnish

Objects aging, metal fading, varnish cracking — all metaphors for the self weathering its own seasons.

Clarity

Moments of sharpness, dissociation, emotional honesty, and the rare flash of seeing yourself clearly.

Drift

Zoning out, slipping, coping, erasing, returning — the mind moving like a tide.

Together, they form a single night’s emotional weather system.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

These haikus were written in one sitting, late at night, when the world felt both too sharp and too blurred. They trace the way a mind moves through cynicism, decay, dissociation, humor, coping, and return. Nothing here is polished. Everything here is true.