A Spoonful of Straggisto

I lift to my lips a spoonful of straggisto and cry out,

"Oh! Eureka! I am home at last!"

Its tart sweetness unlocked a delight akin to home.

I am somber and overcome with simple joy at last.

And I am dissolved into a cacophonous voyage to the past.

The sun gleaming ever bright—I am alone,

my feet trace the ancient cobblestone,

hopping past its grassy grey creases and ditches harrowed within.

The rain begins to pour, its droplets slither down my made-up face;

toward my lips, they change its curved coarse.

My eyes pander around the sandstones of the shepherd and merchant—

taking in their laughter, banter, unwearying strides.

I am acquainted with Sonder and it overwhelms my timid mind.

My rigid shell is cracking,

my soul swerves too fast.

My corpse is desperate, screaming, encroached by a journey to my past.

"Steady, steady,” the words my lips can no longer thread.

I am just a clone, living the life I thought would please.

My words they hurt—

piercing through my soul in unwelcomed grief.

My prolonged evasion of Oizys now treats me with his reprisal—

Disguised in a self-made enclosure,

the pain breaks into sensational cascade;

I have plunged into my own pit, and I can no longer escape.

No blink, no pinch could tear me away from this torment.

Until at last, as fate plays its spiteful jazz,

I awake from my dream, and the last of the spoonful—

I take, with a gasp.

— Gwynevierelle

7.11.2022