Self-fulfilling Prophecy
The light from behind my eyelids
A warm rusty ochre
Your yellow-stained fingers
You always were a smoker
My first moment on Earth
I must hold my breath
For the air is too sterile
To guide me to my death
Asphyxiation provides elation
When grey matter burns black
They left me at the station
The only way I know is back
The sun fell away
Now I look into the mud
With my newfound lungs
I smell the iron in the blood
They called it a rare case
My choice to be blind
I said, “My spirit guides me
To what I need to find.”
The twilight now shines through me
With bright specks glittering
“Connect the dots, then you’ll see.”
In my mind's eye, I traced.
A luminescent pattern emerged
The first sight of my life
With it, my soul surged
Death become me, let me fly.
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