vowed to be aching

it’s a ritual to ideate this failure
and i realize
the transgression
but romanticism weeps just the same
as the honeymoon depletes
my funds
so all thats left
are shriveled petals and photographs
a ceremony where i couldn’t stop
i couldn’t remember my fathers warmth
the way i use to
before i replaced him
with imbeciles that interpret this as sibylline
i debase for

momentary escape.

on days when my mind has had enough
(a true suicidal contemplation
that offers my sanity as a sacrifice
upon an altar of
ethical distractions–
imploring me to
kneel down
to this societal convention
or at least make communion
with anyone
apart from the devil on my shoulder)
i will escape through simpletons
because my thoughts are far
and far
from them
and my home

where my dad sits missing me
as i sit missing him.

i can try to feel
a ghostly embrace
or hear
his love
but my pagan
bias shadowed;
famed idols
reflect fears to
confront him for
and turn into
hushed prayers
only when i find myself
able to sleep.

this is how
all ironic disciples weep
and wives become widowed
on nativity.


About Robyn

"If you haven't known insanity, you haven't lived."
This entry was posted in My Favourites, Philosophy 3308 001, Recovery (USA) and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to vowed to be aching

  1. ellieroses says:

    I can’t get the image of “shriveled petals and photographs” out of my head.


  2. Ziggy Mang says:

    *snap snap snap* ;)


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