Don't Choose Me

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Some animals, in their communities, fascinate me. The loyalty that is sewn in a pack, the numerous pairs of eyes that look out for each other, the formidable guard they build up like walls, are truly an astounding event to witness. I think humans can take a page off of that, but experience has taught me that not all of us can read. Weary we become on our self- centered quests, that we quickly forget the ones who once left bread on the trails for our sorrows to follow.... the ones with hugs so tight that they squeeze out all insecurity, fear, and doubt. 

Now tell me, how easy it was for you to give me your coldest shoulder and pretend that my side of the story, you could not hear. Instead, you chose to honour the ones who feed you carcasses. Rotten, unbalanced tales worthy of a hyena's cackle, I now reside in the blurred fragments of your lens. But what will you do when the ones you raise so highly trample upon you with their own horse? I hope that horse bites you too! You and betrayal are like nomads, and my greatest wish is that neither of you reaches anywhere, anytime soon. Weird is how I now describe you and my verb for you is irk. Deaf for me but loud fanfare for adopted garbage. I pray the truck never drives by to pick you up. I hope it leaves you at the roadside, immersed in your own decomposition. You will reek.

There will come a time where you would want to pull up a seat and beg for my side, a time when you realize that the webs they spun belonged to lethal spiders and you, old fool were the bait. When that time comes, you will no longer recognize me, nor be able to reach me where I sit. You will beseech my story telling and from a distance, I will only respond, "I do not turn pages, I burn books, be careful you do not choke by the smoke." Then, as my essence fades and becomes a mere echo, the silence will reverberate in whispers begging you to choose them, and please, I beg, do not choose me.


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