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
from
a ceremony where i couldn’t stop
crying
because
i couldn’t remember my fathers warmth
the way i use to
before i replaced him
with imbeciles that interpret this as sibylline
charm
i debase for

momentary escape.

on days when my mind has had enough
criticism
(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
motives
pace.
bias shadowed;
famed idols
reflect fears to
confront him for
encouragement
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.

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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.

    Like

  2. Ziggy Mang says:

    *snap snap snap* ;)

    Like

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