The Flaw

Please listen carefully: do not
believe anything you think
you hear me say. I have already lied
and misrepresented myself so that
you would let me into your home.
For some reason, I am compelled
to tell you now that I am, in fact,
from miles below the surface of
the earth. And will be returning
any minute. I wanted to say a few words
before I go about what I have learned
from your kind. Most people up here
seem to think it's a good thing
to sit in the sun,
add some color to your color, get some
color if you're pale.
But haven't you come all this way
to escape the sun? Haven't you run for
centuries, millenia, from its
incessant heat and light?
I am not even addressing
the new-found lethal nature
of the holes in the sky. I just mean
to point out that I myself
am not a sun person. It fascinates me
to see what she does for the earth,
but I cannot stand to have her
in my face. Aside from the headaches,
what gets me is that the sunrise
hands you obligations to the day,
obligations you cannot easily shrug off.
What gets me is not knowing
how to answer the call. So, there it is,
then, I have warned you. I love the sunrise
only as much as I hate it. And that is why
I am leaving. Because I am not
a sun person. Because I am an infinite
pocket. I leave behind vacuums
gasping for air, nothing left to suck in,
but still expecting
everything I never had to begin with.