So it went that there was
a golden time that I emerged
from my shell and made nice
with all the flowers, and the sky
darkened because it didn’t like
my sudden change of heart
and wanted me to remain cruel
and full of hate…
…but I had outgrown that,
shed that skin, and was ready
for new experiences that
weren’t so twisted and full
of shards of black glass.
The sky threatened rain,
and I held up my cup.
The sun began to bleed,
and I offered a bandage.
Below, on the green earth,
I turned and turned in my
hot dreams, and my waking
life began to resemble
a memory of something
better than I ever was.
Is it real? I asked the birds,
who flew on and ignored me.
I visited the water, my ancient enemy,
and asked, Have I really changed?
Of course not, the water murmured.
You’re the same as you always were.
Look at your growing list of victims.
I turned the other way, convinced
the water was lying (it always had before).
I made my way through my dwindling years,
buoyed by the thought that I had been
reformed, reimagined, and the dead
were not dead but merely pretending,
playing a joke that I didn’t understand
but would get on a not-to-distant day.