I am not quite sure how to mop up the spills, breaks, burns, and chaos that I have caused.
There are those who are still feel so angry, so betrayed, so heartsick with the virus, the Relationally Transmitted Disease, they caught while we were in contact during my destructive embodiment. There are times when I want to remind them that I was the one who was in the fire, I was the one who hurt the most, I was the one who lived with such self-hatred that only the strongest of elixirs would dull then pain and make tolerable the glaring reflection that looked back at me, looked through me and wondered when I would wake up.
I discover the muscles in my jaw, back behind my molars locked, clenched, as hard as rocks - Grinding and gritting through the flaying of spiteful vengeance.
To them I am a convenient villain in the black hat. Although a while back I took off this emblem of all "Bad Guys", they still only recognize me when I am wearing my torn and frayed uniform. Repeatedly they pick up the hat I have ripped off and stomped into the dusty trail, knock it back and forth over their knee to shake out the dirt, give it shape, and firmly pull it back down onto my head to snugly fit as perfectly as it did when it was brand new. They find the crumpled script in the mud, carefully uncrinkle the pages, and re-read the smudged dialogue that cuts through my spirit.
No comments:
Post a Comment