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