Author: Destiny Amos
My character is not a deceiver, an antagonist
But I still long to splice the film
Which recorded the acts I have performed,
The countless instances that I continue to observe.
I ache to turn the squeaky dial on that decrepit wooden box
Decreasing the sin echoed through our empty living room,
Pause and exchange my retrograded life.
That reel of images we stole and then destroyed.
The corporate sticker curling back off the edge,
Brown dirt collected on the adhesive
Their reminder to prepare the precious brick for
The next one to absorb its translucent contents.
But the film was tangled, coated with dust and
Replaying a loop of acts and falsehoods.
I was devoured by a faulty player again and again.
Yet it was my own foolishness that repeatedly
Started that ethereal whirring of the VCR.
But I long to rewind the feature and
Cut and paste your eyes and your mouth
Into all the important scenes.