LEGION

 LEGION

an army with dead tales

Mama, it’s me. Lucy.

Had to change the name to Hush cos it’s been too much.

I’ve spent a lifetime in dark now. I hate light.

You gone, and now I am without one.

 

I pop up in the room and everything stays still.

The fan ceases, the breeze freezes,

feet shuffling, eyes glancing

your son is a wonder or something now.

 

My grief wore off but the pains keep coming.

Saw you smile in the casket, and it changed me.

Maybe there was comfort beyond the gates of Hades indeed,

I wondered.

 

I’m sorry I never cried.

I lost it now. Nothing will ever make me shed tears.

You raised me a sweet angel

now I’m just a bitter soul

with a legion of thoughts masked in smiles

and an infinite world of “happiness.”

 

Mama, I died with you.

I await my redemption if there is any.

They hold my soul a ransom.

Voices in my head press on with torments.

 

I am a legion now,

one with many faces and identities.

Guilt is gone. My conscience tied.

 

There’s this cold vibe that precedes me now.

I feel them gushing in before I make a stance.

My friends all fear me.

Those who don’t know me can’t even put it all together.

I’ve many a soul to figure out...

 

Man with a plan. Man’s got plans.

I’ve survived hell itself

how much more this mortal pushback?

 

I know my words freak you out, Mama,

but this ain’t your son.

He’s timed out.

 

I’ve seen death a couple more times than I should.

I wonder if the beyond have forsaken me too.

Always with mask on and on guard,

hoping the next lash out won’t hurt anymore souls

like I have before.

 

I’ve seen far more souls get ruined and burnt

trying to save me.

The torments they can’t bear

now these bitches see me and holler.

 

Language!

My bad...

 

They say time heals all wounds.

Lies.

Time just teaches you which pains to ignore,

which voices to answer,

which version of yourself to send into the room

so, people stop asking if you’re okay.

 

I’ve got a version for every occasion now.

The one that laughs at the right moments.

The one that nods when they talk about their problems

like mine aren’t an ocean and theirs a puddle.

The one that says “I’m good” and means it just enough

that they stop looking at me like I’m a bomb.

 

But when the room empties?

When the performance ends?

That’s when the legion assembles.

 

Every version I’ve ever been shows up uninvited.

The boy Mama raised.

The man who loved and lost.

The dead man at the crossroads.

The one who wanted to die

and the one who’s still wondering why he didn’t.

 

They all sit at the same table in my head

and none of them agree on a goddamn thing

except that I’m exhausted.

 

I see Mama sometimes.

Not in dreams, I don’t sleep like that anymore.

I see her in the way people look at me

when they realize I’m not the sweet boy I used to be.

In the way they step back slightly

when I walk into a room and the temperature drops.

 

She’d be disappointed, probably.

Or maybe she’d understand.

Maybe she’s the only one who would.

 

The voices don’t tell me to end it every day anymore.

Sometimes they just whisper.

Sometimes they’re quiet.

Sometimes I forget they’re there

until I catch my reflection

and don’t recognize who’s staring back.

 

I’ve hurt people.

Let’s not dance around it.

I’ve loved them with a heart that was already ash

and wondered why they got burned.

I’ve pushed them away before they could leave

because everyone leaves eventually

and I’d rather control the exit

than watch it happen again.

 

They tried to save me.

God, they tried.

And I watched them crumble under the weight

of a grief they couldn’t name,

a darkness they couldn’t fix,

a legion they couldn’t quiet.

 

And when they left, and they always left

I added their faces to the army.

Another voice. Another story. Another dead tale.

Same story, just different dates.

We are one.

No man dares to reach out.

My era has no Jesus but only pigs.

The sad vibe, that barely fits.

 

So here I am, Mama.

Lucy, who became Hush, who became Legion.

Your sweet angel, now a bitter orchestra

of every version of myself I couldn’t save.

 

I pop up in rooms and everything goes still.

Not because I’m special.

Because I’m a walking reminder

that some things don’t heal.

That some people die and keep walking.

That grief doesn’t have an expiration date

and sometimes survival looks like this—

cold, guarded, masked, and alone.

 

I don’t know if there’s redemption.

I don’t know if the beyond are waiting

or if they’ve closed the gates on me too.

I don’t know if I’ll ever cry again

or if the part of me that could feel that deeply

is just gone forever.

 

What I know is this:

 

I’m still breathing.

The fan still stops when I enter.

The voices still press on.

The masks still fit.

And somewhere in the wreckage of 2022,

there’s a boy at a crossroads in the rain

who’s still waiting for death

and a man in the present

who’s still wondering why it never came.

 

I am a legion.

One body. Many souls. Dead tales.

An army that marches nowhere

but never stops moving.

And if that’s all I ever am,

if that’s all that’s left

 

Then so be it.

husH