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

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