Putting up the white flag,
laying down my gun

Turning my back on fantasy,
projects left undone

Unlike other enemies,
she’s neither front nor back

But lives where only she can go,
where color turns to black

Her voice becomes a mimic,
ventriloquist of my soul

As words come uninvited,
their letters rhyming whole

Resistance now is futile,
my nights pass sleep deprived

Mercy vacant, her voice my own
—all victory denied

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2020)