This
flesh is mine; it has bled, spilled pain
that
helped me turn darkness into fuel.
You
pretend to understand my ways, but you don’t feel
what
lives outside your festering skull.
No,
I no longer know (or care) why you have become
you--someone
whose absence is celebrated by most.
– for
Poets and Storytellers United (Friday Writings #140: Things That Aren’t So Scary “anymore”)—once upon a time, when I was young and more than a wee bit naïve, I found
darkness terrifying. The same was true for how I felt about hurting the
feelings of individuals who didn’t quite deserve my worries. Life and
experience changed my views on both counts… drastically.
