Let me be a magicians hat,
where a white gloved hand enters
but never comes back;
the rabbit inside, dressed
skinned and limp to the touch,
revealed in shades of violence
that would cause a rose to blush.

The future I am, destroying him completely;
dismantling rationality,
sending that bloodied hand back in –
desperately.
Grasping at anything;
a string of flags in procession endlessly,
uncomfortably damp,
or a bundle of flowers
covered in what should have been rabbit.

No matter what he pulls out
the audience can give only horror
while I, the hat, tossed aside;
the only magic inside unwelcome,
broken and exhausted
from years of giving more than expected.

The crowd will stand,
slowly at first –
but quickly growing to a tidal force,
crashing against the exits
while this magicians hat rocks back and forth
mouth agape, unaware of what goodness is.

Let me be a magicians hat
perform this last trick and find peace.