vision of the future

a poem (escapril day one)

i. the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, my bones lurched and creaked. and there he was. the devil appeared with his bright eyes and conniving smile, and showed me two possibilities. maybe i should’ve opened my eyes, wracked my brain for sunshine and basked in the glory of unknowing, but there has to be something better than this. and so i let him indulge me.

ii. one vision is eerily familiar and the hairs poke up again. the curtains are never drawn, we don’t look each other in the eyes anymore, and i never catch the fruit trees blooming, just the rot on the floor as the cycle repeats. inked pages remain buried at the bottom of the wardrobe fading, crumpled. i pull cat fur from my eyelashes and from my tongue. i come out of the shower with red eyes and skin wedged beneath my fingernails (but that’s not how you exfoliate).

iii. saliva coats the devil’s mouth and mischief creates a dark film over his gums. he chuckles to taunt me, chuckles with fake satisfaction. does it count as teasing if i’ve already sunk my teeth into my condemnation? 

iv. the second vision, wonderful and new, is beautiful, a knife in my side. it’s bright and floral, and i’m unworthy. i know this and so does he. in this future, i’m forgiven, and i don’t screech at the sun. i don’t tense when the cards are dealt, but you rub my shoulders anyway. in this future my teeth don’t need to be filled, decay is an old friend and we’re not on speaking terms anymore. but is the future really soft if it’s unattainable, if it presents itself like fiction? i grew up cracking book spines, but is my destruction enough?