Source: open.ai
The galaxies were dark and cold
without a single light,
and in each one I was alone,
solemn through my plight.
Without the sun, I had no means
through which to tell the hour,
until I realized that the trick
was to make the clocks run counter.
I watched then as the many paths
to follow did appear,
when suddenly you took my hand
and softly dried my tears.
You presented to me “Exhibit A:”
a leather photo book;
you pointed out the smiling cherubs,
and I knew who was the crook.
The realization sunk in deep,
I pushed out of your grasp:
I now saw that you came to me
to accuse, not to ask.
And so I fled your condemning gaze
to set the clocks back right,
but something stopped me when I grasped
it wasn’t you to fight.
No, the culprit was not so far,
nor strange or even foreign,
but something still was out of sorts:
the answer lied therein.
At the end of all those darkened trails
lay the sinner, sweet and small,
and in her taunting reflection I saw
a child grown too tall.
You knew her before
she knew herself, prearranged;
you lost control, but still you would
pretend that nothing’s changed.
I know that the “good old days”
are a tale told by an idiot, full of fury;
I know that we both wish to live
not in a time, but in a memory.
Is it possible to close my eyes
and go back to our old ways?
Instead I’ll try and pick up
all her remnants on the frays.
So I let myself be locked away
at the ripe age of nineteen,
even though you and I both know
my hands were always clean.
