❈ The Wandsman ❈

Here among the dreaming dead,

I am ash,

Embers,

And burning feathers,

Drifting through the firmament.

Carried by wind,

As if my wings were not vestigial

To land I am anchored

By murderous gravity.

I am reformed,

Only to be torn apart,

Again,

And again

Every trace

Recycled reminders,

Of who I used to be.

I became blood,

On the hands of criminals.

I became the noose

Around my own throat

From death I am become

One step closer to real