Who is Who?

His face-
greasy and worn,
like fly-paper strips
melting in the sun

He gaped at me-

I felt his emotional scars,
they were as tangible,
as those on the back
of a whipped slave

His sunken, distant eyes,
bore the lives of a
thousand nobodies

his strange familiarity
was breeding contempt

I didn't want to be
anywhere near him,
yet there I was

Suddenly my
reflection in his glare,
crystallized his truth-

I’m the freak show!