• Anxious Poets Society

The Stranger

I feel the rhythm of the moon

in the base of my skull. Can you feel it too?

It’s slender fingers slipped into the top of my neck,

and pulled me out through it.

I was above me,

looking down at a familiar stranger.

I stare into the face of the man, and although I recognize myself there,

I feel as if those eyes are lying.

I want those eyes to leave. I want the comfort of steel to shift the skin from the bone, so I don’t have to bother with meat.

I want to be better. I want to thrive. I want to be one. I want to get rid of the tether

that keeps me floating here

and I know I can’t.

Am I the mind?

The meat? The soul?

I want to reach under my fingernails,

Pull myself out through them, and closely inspect whatever it is I happen to find.

Would I catch the light?

would I awaken to the realization that I was only a dream made to stave off an ever-encroaching loneliness?

But then, why would that dream

be lonely too? How cruel it is to be awake.


Andrew Shnider is an aspiring Taoist trying to make sense of life through poetry. He is constantly trying to expand his horizons by seeking out new experiences and perspectives. He enjoys conversation of all kinds, and encourages you to contact him at He is based in Montréal, Canada.

#rhythm #moon #skull #fingers #neck #stranger #eyes #lying #thrive #meat #skin #bone #mind #loneliness #dream #cruel #dreams #awake

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