There are so many ways out of this. Out of me, out of you. I could walk into where the building runs out. Run past the shore of that deep pond. Figure out what kind of heat petrol and matches can bring on into the party. See what cold steel feels like inside the tightly packed veins on the marks of your lucky bracelet. Steal something to drink from a goldsmith’s workplace. Trust me, there are so many ways out of this. Trust me.
Complications describe me. I break at the smallest pain. I pretend to be tough but I ain’t. I’m tougher. I cry for the worthy and the worthless alike. I want to help the poor but I can’t even feed my own family. I love, but I fail at it every single time. Complications describe me. You think you can help, but you think wrong. I’ve only myself to blame. I can’t blame the Sun for being too hot or for hiding under the clouds for no apparent reason. I can’t blame you for being there. I blame myself. I can’t blame you for leaving. I blame everyone else. I’m all out of experiences to share. I’m all out of life. Can you spare me some?
You ask what happened to me? You can ask. But I have no answers. I could say “nothing”. But I can’t lie. Not to you. You can ask. I have answers that translate into lies. But we are no angels. We’re no saints. Forgiveness ain’t free. I know that by now. But you have to forgive me if I leave.
Oh. I’m not the only one here, you mean. But look at me. Don’t you see how my costume stands out? I’m an ugly angel. See how the white light bounces off the million microscopic prisms that decorate my bloody chicken feathers? Look at the prettiest halo of a thousand rainbows around me. Do I not look beautiful? I’m smiling too. Is this where I stop pretending? Can I go now?