Black
as the mood can be, you fled
across the sands and seas
of time, committing
words and suicides to save your life.

Although your blood was red and warm
and you were human, you were born
into a shell like Samsa
till your swan song
flung its tail

and stung. Alas
it lashed too long, it was too
talented and strong. You
perforated your own head,
scorning it with bane

and the will to live bled
out of it again: a sieve, dense
with ill-timed silences—
one small, accounted accident
and all was spent.

-Maria Theresa Ib