Apologies drop from your mouth like dead locusts,
Simple reminders of the actions that plagued me over the years.
They lay there, lifeless,
Though you try to play God and get them to swarm.
Clogging the air around me,
Pulling my breath from my chest until I give in.
You pull at my wrists until the water turns red around us,
Dragging me deeper and deeper
as I drown in the water I was baptized by.
The frogs and flies cloak me like the lies you told
Killing the crops of my effort until I relent.
But I am the lamb whose blood drips on the doorframe,
A haunted red in the impending darkness.
I am the eldest child, convulsing with fear in the corner,
Fear that the walls I built will not protect my fragile existence.
I am the forgiven,
Because I choose to forgive.
I am the forgotten,
But not one who forgets.
This poem is about: