On the first day of May, I saw the setting sun.
My strained body floating down a narrow path.
As the strings from my body flew to the unknown,
My shadow grew larger and I swear I heard it laugh.

The birds in the distance didn’t mean much to me,
As the whips of clouds drifted by.
The cross erased itself from the horizon,
And I was left to choose what was right.

I had nearly been sealed and suffocated,
When the oil scorched and cleansed out these lungs.
I breathed again for the first time in six years,
Shuddering at the things I had done.