Volare

i have become a shell of myself.
a xerox of a xerox —
so volare, i whisper in one’s ear;
for the day i should fly away will be the day my bones go hollow —

strip me of my scales and claw at my raw flesh.
taste the loathe that seeps through my wounds; savor it.
for that will be the last of me to show.

tis my deepest apologies that i must leave behind this trail for you to clean up.
but instead of weeping over it, photograph it.
that way it’ll last.

what a trash it must be to know of me.
what a trash it must have been to see my sorrow on display.
what a trash to annihilate each and every expectation, but kudos to me for never failing to disappoint.

nevertheless, farewell i must proclaim.
we’ll meet again,
some sunny day.

think of me when you look not at the shadows but through the shadows, as i’m sure they’re tired of being feared.

think of me when the moon’s stardom obliterates the night’s sky; admire the sharpness of her blade.

but what ever you do, don’t think of me for the pain i must have endured, as words cannot encapsulate.

if in the end we will meet again,
greet me with cheers and cheers.
and if in the end i must stay in my den
don’t treat me with towers of tears.

instead whisper volare as now i’m at ease.
reveal my body, the big strip tease.