an inner chorus now outsourced,
words outside my mind endorsed,
bought and paid by mistakes i’ve made
and make every day. now i’m afraid.
so i never step. i always stay.
in the same place, in the same ways
lest i disrupt further, unraveling
any progress i might have made in me,
‘but there is none,’ a whispering
hoarse and coarse, and lingering.
‘you will always be what you are.
you reprobate, you fallen star.
don’t you know, you foolish boy?
you were made to be destroyed.’