3Ts

1) talk

2) tears

3)  TIME

the template was destined to be wrong.

It took me decades to see why.

history of mistakes added up to delusion

alien failures became domestic madness

molded by hate, anger, and fear

one only transforms into beasts

lost in translation, I tore myself to bits

inside the hourglass of too narrow days

inside the snowglobe of isolated nights

I couldn’t avert my eyes from details

heavy, cutting, bleeding into my mind

coloring the darkness that poisoned me

And then my fundamental wrongness,

was just another splitting headache.

The static white noise gathered, to be the pain

of every touch of communication

All that’s left against all that’s right…

Still, I thought I knew who I was,

There is no more shame in being wrong.