metamorphosis

i chose to hide

hiding until not even

the moon and constellations

could find me now

see, this is the quandary

of innocence

your crime becomes my skin

becomes my marrow

where your violence went is

a roadmap of never will

i may have chosen

the dusty attic and cobwebs

with a bed tightly smashed against

the broken wall, but i never

chose such marred sheets

in dreams

i still have fingers replaced by tentacles

and the quiet streets are the ones

i most fear

*Published in Black Flowers Literary Journal, Volume Five