This was a tale as old as time.
A movie where every scene had a bad line.
Where every character dies.
And the hero never wins,
No matter how hard they try.
And love doesn’t win at the end.
I’ve seen this before,
I know how it ends.
Not a final kiss,
No “we can be friends.”
Just an awkward goodbye.
And a sad, lonely, few couple of nights.
And then maybe some more.
They don’t pick up the phone
And one day your ok,
With being alone.
You start to  drink to forget.
Then start calling your friends.
You drink even more,
Starts to feel like a bag.
And you start to see her face.
And you hate that you are,
Who she said that you were.
The villain of your own movie.
This beautiful , sad, love story.
This wasn’t how you thought it would end.
With you all alone.

Thousands of eyes,
looking at my sleeping body.
After my false awakening,
I saw them,
still trapped in the dream.
They were recording
my every painful breath.

Eyes without eyelids,
dense, dark air.
I became an unexpected glitch
in the imposed system.
They just didn’t know
what to do with me.

The spiders around my bed
were watching over
the meaning of my existence.

I had only a deep need
to find a place
for all elements
of the broken vessel,
the black pupils,
the witnesses
to my faltering walk.

I am not yet a butterfly.
I am the caterpillar
in a long ego tunnel.

Thomas was right.

To heal,
I must keep going
and going
until all becomes
one seamless whole,
ready to transform
into a flying being,
free from the chain of wounds,
sacrificed
on the altar
of broken Ego.