humpty dumpty

i used to be happy

i'm fairly certain i was.

once- long ago, things were peaceful, 

carefree, easy. i watched from a distance

as life lived itself.

but that was long before i awoke

to find myself entangled in this great black cobweb

of power, greed, deception.

and there he was, a great black widow

poised and ready to kill

i still don't understand why he chose me

there were hundreds, maybe thousands of

other doctors, power-thirsty and fallen from grace

who would gladly do his bidding.

but he wanted me, because i was the best

and no doubt i was, then.

he wanted me, because i was driven by goodness,

by my desire to help, by my desire to save.

and no doubt i was, then.

but that was before all of this

before my white-gloved, sterile hands

were sullied, soiled as my incredulous eyes stare in disbelief.

that hand, the one that made me who i was- 

the great Adam Stanton, the surgeon, the brother, the friend-

honorable and true.

it was as if, in that moment, that hand

and the trigger it was gripping,

with the white of my knuckles, bare and exposed

disconnected itself from my clear, rational thinking

and, taking on a mind of it's own

was driven to action

not in a matter of minutes, 

once all the facts were examined,

the consequences established,

but in a split second, judgement clouded by

passions, revenge.

when knowledge, the truth, your safety net

the very thing you live for turns on you

sometimes all you can do is act.

so my fingers extended

to grip that cold trigger

and i pulled.

my eyes narrowed on that speeding mass of metal

careening in a blur towards

the invisible red target hanging from his chest

there was chaos, screaming, running

but the world in slow motion became nothing more

than a series of staccato repetitions directed at me

and before i knew it

i was careening into nothingness.

but not before i saw him

surrounded by a crowd of onlookers

fall with a thud on that spotless marble

now stained by a sanguine puddle

like my flawless reputation

now torn to pieces

i would live on in the minds of my colleagues

not as a phenomenal, admirable surgeon

but as the man who pushed the Boss off the wall

and watched from the sidelines 

as all the king's horses

and all the king's men tried

to put him back together again.

but it was a futile attempt.

he had fallen too far, too fast.

for man is never safe

and damnation is ever at hand.

maybe badness is all we have to work with.

maybe you have to make the good out of the bad.

because there isn't anything else to make it out of.

maybe a man has to sell his soul

to get the power to do good.

because man is conceived in sin

and born in corruption

and ashes to ashes

we all fall down.