And so the games begin yet again –
Clarion trumpet shattering midnight silence,
Cannon fire signalling yet another casualty,
on this war-torn battleground of arteries and veins.
Another war another victor,
Another portrait to be hung.
I have my trajectory imprinted onto the back of my cerebellum;
I know where this goes.
Years of disappointment weigh bitter on my soul,
Curdle in my stomach.
Always, it has eluded me. Always, we want what we do not have.
Still, I spread my wings,
Head towards the amber glow,
Spellbound even as they crumble under the onslaught of the flames.
Like Prometheus, I am doomed to always have my heart torn out, devoured.
Listen. The eagles are descending.
Even as I shut my eyes,
steel myself against the pain,
pray this time will be different –
The cycle repeats itself.
I am a snake fated to always chase its own tail,
To orchestrate its own destruction.