78 lines
1.9 KiB
Text
78 lines
1.9 KiB
Text
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Passer
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2022-04-23
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***
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Dreams of my youth in red,
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painted in bloodshed
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from retribution for crimes
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where my body was ripped away,
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proclaimed
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not mine,
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belonging to someone else
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along with my life.
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Yearning to dig my claws into
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someone else's flesh,
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feel
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the heart giving way,
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no longer obligated to kneel
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at my nemesis'
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behest.
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But over this Inside lies a veil.
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And while I lie
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in the land of the blind
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half-seeing with eyes groping
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for a shred of the life
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last life's death made me left behind,
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I cannot go feral, cannot exhume
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the beast inside me built of chaos and doom.
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Imagined revenge in a manner
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that would not bring me harm,
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would never, could never
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be traced back to me,
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never raise any alarm
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bells.
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But the skies have grown pale
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on this day laden with angel
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numbers. Death in the family.
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A pet's soul has chosen to set sail.
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The wish is granted. The curse is complete.
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The harm has been done, but it does not taste sweet.
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You remember, don't you? My thelema, my fate
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was to love at any cost and forget how to hate.
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There's a difference between the sexes in most that I've seen:
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men opt to destroy, and women first choose to escape,
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choose to from what they find odious themselves separate.
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I don't want my enemies to drop over dead.
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I just want to never have my neck be stomped on again.
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Does that make sense?
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My mother is mourning upstairs.
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"Mourn." When I had first heard
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in elementary school that word,
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I'd thought it was short for "morning",
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as in, "I am sad and waiting for the sun to rise,
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reassurance that I survived,
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that I've still inside me got some life
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left."
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Mother, I hope that one day
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you'll forgive me for taking your baby sunshine away.
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That you'll watch the next sunrise for me
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after my psychopomp has taken me to Sablade.
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The sun is also a star.
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And in time
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another star will rise.
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And I can't believe
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after everything
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I'm saying this, but I hope
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this won't be our last goodbye.
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***
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CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
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