to my adtech scissors
The day I had hated the orange sun,
Or the bulb that sat with me in the room,
Please know there was something you could have done,
But worry not, I was your opportune.
Maybe when the grey blade glares on my skin,
Or when the cold darkness hugs my body—
Please read my dry lips for what could have been,
A set version of me: disembodied.
Don't mourn or cry or anything of grief;
Look back at your own shadow's state and shape.
Why didn't I get my slice of relief?
Why just now? Why not then? Something at stake?
When my turn comes to haunt those who wronged me,
I won't do it. I won't. I won't. I won't.
Against my feelings, I will have pity,
Pity I didn't get yet I still want.
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