Hellbound

I’ve been telling people these grand tales describing who’s the true me,

The younger me, the unmarked me…

I’ve been preaching them like a prophecy.

And now that I got myself back, what do I do with all of this?

Now that my chest has stopped rotting,

Am I really immune to death’s kiss?

I should be grateful for the bells and whistles

And how my hair glisten in the morning sun,

Yet the magic fizzles out too soon.

I’m not sure if anyone’s left here to listen.

So, what is the point of climbing out of hell?

Why did I dig myself out of an early grave?

Not a single soul uttered “I wish you well”.

I baked my own birthday cake

And found a hundred new lives I still needed to save.

They call me hellbound,

But, god, maybe I just need a break.

My heads spins in circles, round and round,

And I realize that every tale I’ve been preaching is fake.

-Jackie