Uroborus

The spirals of the future chain me to the past.
The rhythm of the lace,
The ribbons infinite grace,
The delicate bonds,
That chains me to my fate.

The screams of my daemons,
The pleas of my gods,
The darkness is coming,
I am forgot,
Pawn in a battle,
Darkness and hate,
My fears announcing; I am a fake.

Little by little,
I drip and regress,
Pain ensuing, ripping, tearing,
Contorting headdress.
Feathers fall down,
Plucked onto white,
And snow mixed with blood
Is brown by night.

Standing before my shadows,
Facing my doom,
Watching myself unravel me,
Work out the kinks,
Tend to my wounds,
Spin me again.
Use the loom.

Make up changed,
Starting anew,
Same old ingredients,
Recycled too few,
Fears rearranged,
Voices combined,
No amount of organising can change me,
Flaws, insanity and all,
To the past I will bind,
My daemons, my gods,
To the new me:
Blind.