Undead, caught between two planes of existence, and the only way to survive is devour another - lapping up every morsel given to me.

Not for gluttony, but by nature.

A curse was laid upon me at the first bite.

The hunger is insatiable, as a plague of parasites consume all my nourishment.

The heart empties as quickly as it fills, more a conduit than a reservoir.

The flesh ages and rots while my mind remains a constant as time slips away.

My eyes have not the decency to diminish though, so I must watch it all fall away.

My stained hands can offer nothing but laced fingers, begging forgiveness as they wring out more life force.

If I were to peal back my flesh, what would it reveal?

Something alien that’s studied in humanity but struggles in practice?

Perhaps wires hold my limbs like a marionette, strung along by expectations and held in place by acceptability.

It could be gears and pistons grinding in unison beneath the surface, struggling to imitate life.

I think I’m a tin man in a skin suit - stiff, hollow, and desperately in need of fuel to move me or a heart to guide me.

But really all I’ve found is this crimson reminder of the finite, uncanny creature I don’t recognize anymore.

I row through the streams of time - staring backward as I push forward, toward the unknown.

I carefully recount and reconsider my course.

Should I have paused at that port to pass the time?

Should I have seized upon that split in the stream?

I can’t know.

I wonder where the water will wander.

Will I hit rapids, leaving me a wreck upon the rocks?

Will I find a boundless brine stretched before me?

I don’t know.

But I do know all rivers must end, and since I’ve departed, I’ll ride into the uncharted, hopeful yet heavy hearted.

Small and delicate, there is a boy perched upon my shoulders. He looks familiar, like an image I’ve seen in faded photographs, but the features and details are blurred and confusing. They’ve been lost to the years past.

In reality, he does not wish to be seen or inspected, but he clings to me, constantly whispering. Not with voice, but through black, sinuous veins nestled into my mind. I thought for a long time I needed these impulses, but he simply convinced me of that.

Please, don’t think poorly of him. He’s only a child. Perpetually a child. He’s scared, motivated by doubts. He hides behind me, hands clutched in fear. But his fingers curl around my insides, choking my thoughts and breath.

I’ll console him, if I must.

Convince him even.

But must not concede to him.

I’ll take hold of his fretful hand, because it’s time for him to walk by my side. As much as he’s helped me survive, I want more. This hesitant, sweet boy and I will face it all - happiness, sadness, anger, love, laughter, pain - cause we have to. We’ve seen so much already, yet he’s hidden so much from my memories.

Out of fear.

Out of love.

And I won’t forget that.

My oldest friend, I’ll carry you a bit longer, but one day you’ll have to come down from your perch. Don’t worry though. That won’t be the end - just a new beginning. It may feel lonely, but we can make it together.

The day draws to a close, and we sit in somber silence, reflecting on its passing. You could regale us with one more tale of the hours we spent or the ones I wasn’t there to see, but you’re growing weary. This day felt so short, but I suppose everyone says that. Never is enough hours in a day, is there?

Our conception of time is complicated though. While we wait in funereal apprehension for the chimes to ring, I still perceive the sun traversing the sky. And even though your twilight encroaches on my day, it will not stay when you’re gone - it will ebb as the afternoon ahead overruns it. I’ll be sure of that.

But not yet. For now, I’ll quietly consider the stars this glimpse of night gives.

Are they other days past?

Memories shared?

Their gentle glimmer reminds me of them.

The inevitable nightfall intimidates me, but I hope those stars can strengthen me when the dark comes to eclipse my day.

I hold my heart in my hands. A haphazard mixture of hardened stone and delicate flesh, I struggle to wield it while keeping it whole.

There are numerous tears and fissures, but all besides one can be attributed to me. The same hands that try to press the pieces together are the very ones that have torn it apart, an overbearing parent that stifles and harms its child.

Because it sits in my hands, it appears held out to others, but it’s not for them to touch. I guard it fiercely, squeezing my hands together to shield it, pulling it closer to me, strangling it.

I can’t find the glue to put these pieces back together or the hands that can help me hold the puzzle box in place. So I wait, heart cradled away from myself but nearer to nobody else, wondering if the pieces will ever fit back together.

We are all porcelain dolls, fingering the cracks from our lives in a sad attempt to mend them. The scars fade but remain. Braille for those willing to examine.

Wear the scars proudly, and don't dwell on them. The past is the stone foundation for your temple - you can change the decorations and add rooms and levels, but you can't change where you've started.

Forward. Always look forward.

#poetry #reflections #thoughts