He gets pulled into the darkness,
Head first, his pupils dilated to let in
This point of no return,
This first peel of a rotten banana, where
The blackened skin opens to even
Darker innards. A husk
Of a man hidden by thick slivers of
Blue cigarette smoke, choking on his
Brave choices. Regret,
A word that he doesn’t know anymore
—So gone is he that by now
Regret sounds distant. Something surrounded
In the pale gray of the middle
Ground. If he were to squint hard enough,
Took a step forward into the burning
Brightness of even that dull
Slate gray, then he would know what it feels
Like to be purified. But he,
He likes the unclean self that he has become.
He likes the impurity and the
Shadows, the grit under his nails,
The way the darkness has warped itself
Around him, and turned him into some
Sort of monster that scares children away.
Because now he sees what he
Could not see before.
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