Waking, I felt him on me like a suit
I couldn’t take off—my very body
no more mine, but his.
I struggled to remove his face from mine.
I had to strip away the mask,
and that smell, that stale, stale smell I felt inside—
to plunge a sword into all that was not me
and pierce till all the foreign stuff was gone,
and a clear fountain surged, the pristine Soul.

Max Reif

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-struggle/