I was told that I was unaffected,
and I found myself unable to agree with that assessment,
but it didn't matter,
to the world at large,
or the small selection of very small minds who make decisions on whether I deserved some kind of clarity.
My sleep has been interrupted for a decade of Decembers,
and I spy over my shoulder, every second for the spectre and his sister.
I am unaffected,
but nobody has told my nightmares that,
so they still arrive every evening,
to remind me of the unclean feeling that was forced on me.
I am unaffected,
but danger dances on my grave every time I try to live,
and there will be no relief for the unaffected girls,
of which I am one of many.
There's an old friend on the line,
he wants to call,
like he used to,
but I'm kept from the idea,
creeped out,
crying as he sends another message with what he thinks is a simple request,
but it isn't anymore,
and never will be again,
because I remember the acid rain of unwelcome invasions,
traipsing down the telephone line, tactical and torrid…
but I am unaffected,
or so they tell me.
The radio talks about staying connected,
but I just want to be orbiting a distant planet,
the kind of place where humans can't survive,
so I can get some sleep,
conversate with the cool winds and waves,
alone and unaffected.
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