with all the hours to spill over texts

to study all the histories

what is it about this portal

that so distorts the record

staring wide eyed into the past

much like the corona

only fragments and blinds

is truth as meaningless as time

​

needing you to be wrong

so i can be alright

looking for evidence

in the floorboards of my mind

​

black mirror of my dreams

i wake teeth clenched

sheets drenched in sweat

afraid of who i've seen

​

when i tell this story years from now

which genre will i choose

a memoir that nobody reads

a thriller where nobody screams

​

what if i'm the antagonist 

damned

boxed into that corner

by my own tragic flaw