My paper cranes came to life tonight.
Their frail bodies that are nothing squeaked,
Their hinges unadapted to movement,
Sounding like the cry of the real thing,
Whatever bird a paper crane resembles.

I cried because I knew my mind was lost
Or maybe I was slipping away
Into the between state
But I don’t sleep, do I?
I don’t sleep.

Slowly their wings sliced the air,
And they circled my brain
Dropping seeds in it’s wet canals
And watching weeds grow and choke me.

“I’m sorry I’m so selfish,”
I keep tasting the words.
I can’t decide if I was punished for my narcism
Or if with seeds came haunting words.
I’m sorry I’m so selfish.