It was born small,
A drop of water in a tub of oil,
But the inevitable happened:
It grew,
It engulfed me,
Like an infinite sclera.

A distorted mirror,
Some part of me
Knew it was false,
But the tendrils of transformation
Restrained me, It hurt,
But it was also pure ecstasy.

Now I cannot reject its pleasure,
I now know who I am,
The tendrils guided me,
At a small cost of ignorant bliss,
I now know who I am,
I am Chelsea Krona.