Talking to Myself

I had a world inside my head,

always have,

and I remember,

as a child, I sought vengeance for the fire.

Of course one man did not light this fire,

one soul was not at fault and

nonetheless --

my small hands wanted blood.

The world is burning

and in my young mind,

she alone set it ablaze.

I made her mirage bleed flame colored.

I will not lie,

I have seen every film written and produced by Quentin Tarantino,

and still I have trouble emulating others' art.

I had to ask my father.

He said "violence and humor, centered in dialog."

I think this memory all of these things.

I was three, or five, i'm not quite sure,

time has always been a jumble.

And I had conversations with myself,

I was two people,

and one embodied everything my young mind deemed evil.

We fought,

I won,

or perhaps lost.

It was all in my head after all.