A Dragon too Big to Slay

“All is well, as long as we keep spinning

Here and now, death still behind a wall”

 

—Thom Yorke, Suspirium from the created score for Suspiria (2018). 

 

Fuseli, Henry. The Nightmare (1781). London. 

disappointment and hopes are birthed as the unity of conjoined twins,

while my protruding force of aspirations acts nothing but the simple sins

of what bigger battles bring towards my dismay.

but

this dragon is too grand to slay,

for my malfunctioning half of a heart has stopped beating today

and you may be ignorant to a world that’s eradicated the pleasures of silver spoons 

but i have tirelessly worked and unforgivably bled and continuously cried for too many tumultuous afternoons.

to unrepentantly scream the words “it’s not fair,” 

would only pull at the seams of my tattered tufts of scathed hair 

and leave me shaking against the unforgiving moss:

cold and bare.

this hidden machine that hums and murmurs inside of me

has been drowning out my once hopeful body into the bellows of the sea

of aching tears with failing wires that spark

hark! do you feel your life now fading into the dust of prevalent dark?

towards the belly of the beast my withered skeleton strays with a glistening blade 

and our angels who incessantly watch over us, quietly whisper, “be not ‘fraid,”

but i will not be swayed 

for my chance of nesting in a life that has embroidered my own heart and name has been preyed.

so truthfully, between me and the monster that lies ahead, 

the one whose teeth are initialed with my arranged alphabet, 

it’s the creature’s place who i desire to trade. 

maybe then the reigns of conformity wouldn’t feel so chained and weighed.