You made me.

With a blood red scarf, and a posse of friends.

The sun glinted off the monkey bars as you ran to him.

A swift blow sent him to the ground,

Sprawled and gasping. Afraid.

They grabbed his arms,

Ripped him to his feet.

You held the scarf,

Wrap once,

Wrap twice.

Form a loop,

Wrap around.

He started to fight back,

His light battling your dark influence,

So with another blow you banished him to the shadows.

Tie it tight, leave one end free.

You had the strong friend lift him,

And the tall one toss it over a bar.

One. Two. Pull.

The light begins to fade.

One. Two. Pull.

The knot comes undone.

The body falls to the ground.

He’s gone.

And I took his place.

You fled

And left me to learn.

Alone.

This body doesn’t fit right,

My fear trying to squeeze into the hole left by his joy,

My apathy wandering the cavernous void born of his infinite curiosity,

And nothing to replace his kindness.

 

You walked up to him on the play deck that day,

And like the mad genius you were

Deconstructed everything he was, And made me to fill his tiny, innocent shoes.

Then you left me to derive meaning from my stolen life.

After you were gone, I, in his body,

Was broken, never to function again.

I still feel an itch where you put the scarf

To lift him towards destruction.

Your friends’ words still burn my ears

From the ritual used to forge me from his ashes.

You won. I’m broken.

 

But then he came back.

Tattered,

Frail,

Alive.

You failed.

Now we’re fixing ourselves,

And fighting your influence:

The bright red scarf chaining me to the past,

The jeering friends salting the Earth,

That no future may grow from it,

Your terrible visage scaring me into submission,

All relegated to desk jobs in the back of our fresh new mind.

 

You are a nightmare,

But now I am awake.

Your influence will be forgotten:

Who you destroyed,

And who you created.

We will build our own future,

And live for no one

But ourselves.