Lady of the Flies


I believe
That
I am the
Lord of the Flies.

Truly,
A Lady
of the Flies.
Lady
Amongst the Flies
Swimming in a storm of insects
Buzzing reverberating so loud within my mind
In an effort
To drown out whispers of
screams.

The swarm was gradual,
As all things that grow to immense
Proportions begin.
Individual blurs
Fluttering about my skeleton
that was
Lightly coated with skin,
Magnetically drawn to the plastic bags
Full of food,
Rotting alongside my body
In the bottomless pit of
Week old lunches
I had yet to eat.

The beasts of burden
kindly appeared to me in the mirror,
Sneaking in serpentine movements
Through the overwhelming
Artificial bathroom light.
Paying homage to
my protruding hips,
ridges of ribs,
And sallow complexion.

As my friends,
Or really my
Subjects,
These flies did my bidding.
Evoking disgust in
Foods I used to love,
Rendering me thirsty
Only for the refreshing antidote
Of bile in the back of my
sandpaper throat.

Becoming two dimensional
Inadvertently isolates
You
From the third.

As a transparent being,
My deteriorating organs
Became a display case for
My subordinates to behold.
I wonder,
In their minuscule minds,
Did they think of me as
Alive or dead?
A corpse who has
Developed the capacity
To walk in disguise
among the living?

Eventually,
The warmth of my bed
Began to fade,
Resembling more of a final place
Of rest,
As opposed to
Simply a temporary one.
Fitting clothes
Became robes of royalty
Melting off of my body
To meld with the floorboards that
Glued my trembling feet into place.
How can I possibly stand if
My bones have splintered
Into shards
So sharp that they
Slice my skin?

No longer are my eyes
The lively green of forest trees
I used to climb
With scraped knees,
Basking in the warmth of
Sunlight that was gifted
Upon reaching the top.
Rather,
An eclipse of them
By dilated pupils occurs
As I find myself
Trying to capture light
In the tempestuous
seethe of arthropod apathy.
Not only is my body disintegrating,
Shedding its exoskeleton
As a peace offering to the flies,
But the only medium of
remaining perspective
Has become a leaf
Flaking off of a tree
To become one with the wind.

I’m not sure what is left of me.
Are my flies still here?
I can’t even see anymore
to confirm or deny.
Without eyes,
Organs,
Bones,
To compose a body,
I’m not even sure if the
Low rumbling of their
Beating wings
Is just that
Or the erratic convulsions
Of my decaying heart.

Can you hear my
Frail voice above
the drone engulfing me?
Cradle it with your hands if you
Are able to
Catch it.
Reach through the
Mass of static
Swirling around what is left of
Me.
Pull me out.
Take my crown.
Dethrone me from this existence.

I no longer believe this is all I am.

I began to replenish my body,
Swatting at the blips in my vision
Until they vanished into oblivion.
Eating was a conscious choice
I had neglected to make,
So I deemed it a responsibility,
An obligation to ensure I could
See my reflection in a mirror,
Even if it was enveloped in fog.

Today,
I can receive hugs
Without fearing the sound
Of bones crunching,
That my body is so fragile,
It will shatter if touched by another.

Though I have stepped down from
The throne,
As a
Lady of the Flies,
I still fear I can
fall back into old politics.
That the rumbling of my belly
Is the ominous buzzing,
Or that my spotted vision
From skipping breakfast
Is them coming to convince me
To return.
To rule.
To ruin.

But I press on,
In spite of their ubiquity,
Knowing with comfort
That they can only
Gnaw on my flesh from the outside.

Only I possess the power to do the opposite.

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