I never had a father,
Even though he was alive and with me.
He held my hand when we crossed the street and let me go,
When the sky turned black enough to disappear into.
I once knew of an addict who would put his children to bed early,
so that he had time to play in his darkness.
I never knew what the crack pipe looked like.
But I did notice the twitching, spastic terrors that enraged him,
and though his vision may not have been red,
His eyes certainly were.
I remember the screaming and the crying and wetting the bed,
The bathroom wasn’t as important as my sanctuary,
Where I could pretend to be hidden from the monster.
And I invented many monsters myself, all with the same face,
lurking in the shadows, ready to take my safety away.
But my safety was an illusion, a comfort I imagined for myself.
I never had a father but I was raised by his demons.
My days were longer and bleaker than other kids,
because when it was up to him I was a forgotten orphan.
I watched roses bloom and turn dark and crusted waiting for his car,
His sorrys and his black teeth begging me for secrecy,
And I consent because he acknowledges my existence.
I've never known a man who admitted they were wrong,
All of them justified and heavy-handed.
And my lust for power grows in the same way that black holes threaten to destroy the universe,
And my eyes are not merely red like my fathers,
They are black tourmaline,
And I am not merely a demon or a ghost,
I am the dark prince himself.
Reinvented for a new cause of vengeance,
Which is destruction on a massive scale,
A direct joining of my unholiness, and my godliness,
And I will start with him.
The boy whose tears run down his cheeks clear as crystal as he says to me,
“Honey, there’s this blackness inside of you, there’s charcoal in your soul.”,
He’ll tell me he wants to help me clean it out,
that I don’t have to live in this darkness,
And I will brush his hair away from his face, lean in close and say,
“Oh baby, I am the darkness”.