Song for the Shatterer

Aftermaths, and Shards of Humans

Photo by Diane Picchiottino on Unsplash

There's a storm maestro, I wrote in cursive that looked elegant to me, like there was art delivering the poetry I was going to continue to write.

I was to going to out him, not accuse him, because he did the things I was about to describe.

There was a song of words in my head, words that would beautifully illuminate despicable acts, and I would sing that song on paper, show it to the world, put a dagger in the heart of the dragon and ride off a hero.

But I was stoned, so stoned, the writing halted by the very medication that gave me the courage to let the words flow, self doubt and self loathing reptilian wings that both fed oxygen to and extinguished the flames of my pen.

The maestro…the shadowman…the promise keeper and innocence shatterer…he would be brought down by someone else, someone who suffered as I had, someone who had the courage and the clear head to finish the song I began in a head that was no longer truly my

own.