i followed every advice from day one,

and found the hidden path

a lot sweeter, the night fresher, stolen cookies

taste better.

mother berated me for every mis-step

i took, stern warnings, harsh scoldings,

isolation, punishment because mother

knew better.

i learned during teenage years that hormones changed

perception, a vibe, a tick, like a battery once empty

suddenly becomes fully charged – i felt alive

and also in rage.

rage because the teenager sees, feels, knows

what the adult has kept hidden,

it’s not really that strange a world,

once you’ve been around the block, actions, words

deeper layers get tuned in, like a fish reeled in from

the depth of sea – i felt, heard, the resounding heartbeat

of the leviathan … …

thrashing in her wake,

to whip the sea into obedience, the many folklores

did not come from nothing.

then the adult i became, tasted the highs and lows

of each delicacy, each hell was heaven,

hell was longed for because hell was freedom

to do as i pleased, and it pleased me greatly!

a sugar rush, a dopamine high, a ousted competitor,

victory is glory, what is a loser’s whining other than sore loser?

reign with the right table, the cool crowd, everyone secretly

wants to be just like them, not all can make it, sourgrapes.

till the acid drops to the fermented earth,

the sour milk taste like puke, years in the making of wild days

lived by, then the drum begins to quiet down,

the spirits are satiated, the body is tired,

what now?

my life, like words written out in an eternal canvas,

displayed not by historians, for what are human scribblings

when they touch not death?

death is the face i see, the bargain struck when the paper

was shredded, a life fulfilled.

is it?

i did what most would do,

i’ve come to understand the spirit i have forged,

a reflection of you: walking away when trouble comes,

coming with smiles when a feast is to be had.

it’s normal human behavior,

then why does it hurt so bad?

to have it done over and over again

to myself … ..

for i have become you,

reflections merge, i, god, devil.

who have i followed?

who have i become?

whose child am i?

then i gather the shredded paper,

the words written about me,

try to piece all the parts of me together again,

to understand why i chose.

and it was quite evident,

why.

and the devil grins: now you know

how i felt.

that’s how it is played out you know,

instincts, choices, life, the words forming

even now … … for the paper is not yet finished,

the words not yet painted on canvas eternal.

choose.