Pisaries Creator

I’ve been here before,
tasted it, kept it, smelled it.
I’ve put on these slacks before,
one leg at a time,
with steady hands and sturdy feet.
It’s a recurring situation.

I forget my keys, 
and vital information I can't count
on ten fingers or ten toes.
There are many masks, and I don't
know their names or remember
the faces to their badges.
They may not exist in real time,
only in my memory,
it might serve me well.

I could be known as a fraud,
a slow brained loser,
with a bald head and dead mouth.
Her hands were strong willed,
ready for the fight.
Pressing down came easy for her
where I was not as gifted.
The pain didn't help me.

I can smell the burning fire from
within my throat and it swells
and contracts and grows wider.
My nose can't handle the pain.
It feels worse and there is nothing to
heal my stinging wounds.
She stood over me in a menacing stance.

I knew where I had left my belt and radio.
It wasn't anywhere near me,
and I was in trouble.
One of my eyes wasn't seeing clearly.
I knew darkness was close,
haunting and burning the invisible.