What you see before you is not myself. I am a placeholder, a proxy, a shroud coasting through your orbit, autopilot engaged. A hundred worlds bear the marks of my passage. Clues left scratched in the earth, overgrown reminders of who I once was.
I am fading by the day but you have not forgotten. You see coals where others see only ash. And I look in the mirror and see only shadows, but you remember…
I call you to me now, my cloud of witnesses. Open my eyes to see more than just snapshots. Open my chest and apply voltage. Open my clutched hands and stretch them wide. I will surround myself with your scraps of paper and polaroid, and follow the breadcrumbs home. Cut me open with your second sight and tell me what you find. Beat drums in me that I cannot ignore. Breath your stories on my ember heart and I will glow for you once more. I have learned to hold fast; now remind me how to spread wings, to offer up, to burn and to bleed once more.
Tell me who I was, and I will believe. Tell me what you loved and I will be worthy once again. Paint me and I will come to life.I will not forfeit my birthright. I will walk in the light as before.