The Devil is an Angel
my flesh is bark.
you, the multifaceted bird,
perching on my vulnerablity
to make deceit-sized openings
throughout every chink in my armor.
you despicable woodpecker.
you ravenous bird,
obstinate on taking actions
which i have labeled forsaken.
most treacherous of all:
polluting my veins with your wretched saliva,
you detestable hummingbird.
i, the irreplaceable organism
with unparalleled benevolence,
can’t seem to escape the rage that ensues
each time i gaze upon your forsaken beauty.
it mirrors me, to every corner of my mind.
like a shadow,
which clings to none other than myself,
incapacitating me with every insult;
nonsensical and baseless conjectures
that somehow strike my roots…
the pleasure of having you so close
yet unreachable.
i wish you would respect my convictions,
because i cannot.
why don’t you understand that?
you ignorant mockingbird.
i wonder if this gravity only exists for me.
you move just fine
as you flap your wings seamlessly
carried by the passion scented wind.
while my leaves may no longer enjoy
the exhilarating rides that the gusts of wind bring.
though, i am not devoid of affection for you.
there were a number or days where i enjoyed
our silent conversations.
when your pecking was not malignant,
but a delicacy of energy i could enjoy
each and every moment.
before the reckoning.
before you unintentionally bared your fangs.
at our end lies a requiem.
as we listen together in our coffins,
i wonder what feelings you render.
is it love?
wistfulness?
betrayal?
sorrow?
goodness,
you take the spotlight in my mind
even as my life flashes before my eyes.
you opportunistic dove. you angelic vulture.
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