The Killer

I have to sit and comprehend
that I am not what I used to be
not a killer mistrusted
but a killer that roams freely of its own doing
choking away what was left
consuming the breath
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Photo by Trnava University on Unsplash

rushing these chemical forces veiled
through the curvature of these tiny tiny fleshes
flowing and moving
seeking a kind of retribution
though the mind speaks
and in its speaking
the lucidity of the syringe

and after the rush retreats
I am left standing in a body
that still remembers walking straighter
a mirror holding a face
that used to look back without flinching
now it just watches
watches the thing I became
too tired to call it a stranger
too honest to call it myself

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