Chrysalis

It beckons. It promises.
This way, that way.
I squirm, I squint, I twist, I turn.
Every direction, a new perspective,
A new trajectory for light to trace.
A new way to illuminate
The one that faces it,
The one that pleads with it,
Show me what I want to see.

I look, I hope, I dream, I live,
I look again.
Each glance pitches another curveball.
Spiraling, chaotic swells,
Throwing a raft amongst crashing waves.
It weaves an labyrinth whose every turn brings
Monsters, cunning and insidious.
It mocks silently,
It does not embellish, accentuate, or distort.
It cannot lie.

Every day is the same.
The longing, the waiting,
The hope that it will release me.
I prostrate myself, unwavering in my devotion.
The rituals begin.
Toxic clouds, brown sludge.
Dabbing, smearing, brushing,
More, it wants.
It probes the perceiving eyes,
Peering at what lies behind.
It shares their judgment, and finds me wanting.

I cannot bear to look.
I cannot stop looking.

Seconds pass. 
Each carries with it pleas,
Earnest entreaties to once again face the altar,
To once again seek its validation.
But it never validates. 
It snickers, it laughs, it sneers.
Try again, it snarls.

Maybe this time it’ll be enough.