It might be very true that I’m an afterthought
A ghost whose essence fades like pallid morning motes
of dust that dance on rays cast through the windowsill
Or subtle growls of midnight storms along the coast.
yet not a day goes by of mine where I don’t think of you
You are a punishing aspect within my mind
I send messages in bottles where the pain has brought
me to cast it out to find a different host.
And if I could bring you suffering believe me
You’d be an ant baking beneath my holy lens
refracting sunlight surging just above the windowsill
and my means would be as holy as their ends
And in those last few days the chilling truth was biting
For no thought you’d left unsaid could be undone
I arose twice that week from Plato’s cave, you know
Each time more aware that I’m my father’s son.
And so by these words I am a supernova
There is no escape you’ll ever find from me.
I leave traces in your universe’s marrow
lest you are a deeper fish than I could see
And perhaps we’ll even meet before it’s over
So I can tell you where I think that you should go:
Right to Hell because it’s where I’ve been residing
It’s the only home that we have ever known.