I wish everything in life could be reduced to an equation that ends in fruit pie.
Instead, I orchestrate my life carefully to resemble an easy jig-saw puzzle confusing everyone who approaches my board so they never discover that none of the pieces match and most of them are bruised anyway.
I’m the first carnivorous plant that feeds on its own flesh.
I’m the first moth killed by the shadow of its own wings.
I gave all my secrets to a bay tree when I was a kid. I gave it all my tears and shudders of shock. I shouted my nightmares into its leaves, slick with rain, reflecting the last light of my soul. Storms were born in that canopy of sharp herbaceous scented leaves. Storms railed and burnt out in its branches.
Sometimes I think that’s where I left myself.
I wonder if the course of my life would be perverted if that tree were ever cut down.