My life, my past selves,
each boxed era
of shadows, scents, threadbare memories,
I burn in sacrifice at the feet
of the ones I love,
the pitchforked mob,
rabid and dogma-deluded.
Their screams are scarring
strikes of the whip.
I am a rat well trained by electric shocks.
Even my children are symptoms of my sickness.
All of us held hostage by each other,
and our love,
the bullet in my brain.