By Chelsea Carter

Someone is wearing
my husband’s skin;
his smile is gone
green eyes now white.

Someone with
no boundaries no limits
has won my husband’s battle,
his fight.

His eyes reflect
the change of state
and when I see it
I sprint for a gate.

I don’t know
what to do with him;
it is his skin,
though wearing thin.

This man behind
the mask that fits
could be the end of me
one lick.

Something isn’t
right inside,
the one I knew
I can’t find.

He does those wretched
things we hate
and with a smile
laughs at pain.

I don’t know what
to do with him,
this man inside
my husband’s skin.