Karma

“Karma”

Karma- Whatever you do will come back to you.
                     What goes around comes around.
                   My slashing, lizard tongue became my whip of a hand;
              An angry hand; tired and sickened by deceit and anguish;
                   Anguish that embellished the core of the rotten apple I had become.
                   A bad seed; nurtured by acid rain.
Karma-Whatever you do will come back to you.
                   What goes around comes around.
                   I stand alone when I want to stand near.
                   But it doesn’t matter because I have slithered my way into what I am.
                   My scaly skin left behind on the rock that I scraped on all those years I claimed to love.
                   I left them to bleed while I felt sorry for myself.
Karma-Whatever you do will come back to you.
                   What goes around comes around.
                   Years were spent being a savior; saving people from themselves.
                   I never really got anywhere; nowhere but here.
                   So, I, the savior, began to nail them to the cross.
                   I never meant for it to hurt; but the pain inflicted was inevitable.
Karma-Whatever you do will come back to you.
                   What goes around comes around.
                   Still I devote my life to making up for the angry hands that bruised my face; sprained my ego.
                   Why doesn’t it come back to me?
                   I never started off nailing people to the cross.
                   When I began to hammer it was after I broke free;
                   It was after one of my limbs was torn from the cross they had given to me.
Karma-Whatever you do will come back to you.
                   What goes around comes around.
                   I am not making up excuses;
                   I am just fighting to explain.
                   Explain about the tiny twists of agonizing spite that was spit in my face.
                   I masked the reality in order to grasp the fantasy.
                   It was a fantasy where karma was my friend.
                   It was a fantasy where those I once strived to save would embrace me.
                   They would embrace me and say, “It is okay. You’re not perfect.”