Self-Portrait

Friday

A sincere apology to no one in particular.


Words, I'm sorry for neglecting you.
I'm sorry for not feeding you.
All victuals went towards the birds, you know how greedy they can be...
Selfish birds. Selfish me.

The pages of the rose are all withered and crumpled. My resurrection spell is lost, she'll stay dead just to spite me.
Selfish rose.

I'll endow my all to you. It's not very much, certainly not enough, but it's all I have.
Well, not anymore.
Selfish you. Selfish me.

The birds can starve for all I care. I'd rather feed you than the insatiable parasites atop my skull.
As their premature forms wither, like the rose I left there, I'll feed you their feathery skeletons.
Your feathery skeletons.
Selfish feathers. Selfish skeletons.

Because I don't want their cadaverous lullabies anymore. They shut my ears to the world around me. I desire to grip my senses onto something, someone, anything tangible, real. I'm tired of waving my branches in the wind of symbols, and shedding my leaves for a metaphorical Autumn.
Long ago their true mother mistook me for a wood nymph. Not their fault, the forest framed me.
Selfish forest. Selfish nymphs.

So, I adopted them out of loneliness.
How is it this always ends up so "me me me"?
I'm tired of that, I don't want it to be that way anymore.
Selfish me-me-me, I-I-I.

Here's to you. No more wasted metaphors or banal symbols. No more superficial similies. No more artificial allegories.
Just you.
From now on it'll be you-you-you, because Selfish Me has exhausted and expended herself.
Just you.
Who ever you may be...


Good bye.