This is our last chance to grieve
Dear Lord, I was only thirteen
The host of trepidation freshly forgot,
You coerced forgiveness from fester and rot
Glass eyes, glass eyes, they saw his deeds
I spit up ashes so the flame could breath from my gut to my tongue
The seraph’s shriek, Oh! How it rung
When I was young you averted your gaze. Don’t peddle us antidote, We’re beyond being saved.
Don’t preach to me right from wrong,
Forgiveness was my mother’s song, But be mindful the canaries’ last breath
We’ve only got so many prophets left
Did you forget it was you who left me?
Raw guttural growls and howls, bellowed on my knees
I wheeze, strangled by our umbilical cord, but
She’ll be safe, here on my back, so long as I mourn