Just a series of Martyr Complexes,
Shoved inside a roving bag of meat,
& bone.
Looking for someone,
Something,
Worthy of throwing a life at –
Existing as a force of nature,
Punching with the weight of black holes.
My younger self was wrong,
It’s not a Butterfly Metamorphosis.
It’s Evolution itself.
A Series Of Martyr Complexes.
