I laid my trust with a brother
but he smiled and laid me low.
I hid my pain from a mother
She wailed that I treated her so.
I knelt before a lover
who lamented my selfish ways
So I knelt before my maker
that he might end my days.
Words are trouble. Life is pain.
If all go well, it reverses again.
When hearts are heavy you speak no more
they watch and wait and listen for
Those weak willed indescretions
that lead the gods to contend
You’re a waste of time and oxygen,
a wraith that simply pretends
that you’re a human being,
of flesh and blood and bone,
that there are needs which must be met,
and shadows are not your home.
I laid my trust with a pastor
but he banned me from his flock.
I hid my pain from a savior
Lest my needs be mocked.
I knelt before a therapist
to bask in her shades of grey,
to determine why my maker
still would not end my days.
Life is trouble. Words are pain.
Best to submit and die in the rain.
When hearts are heavy you listen for
A breath of command to rally for war,
But weak willed indescretions
Have cost you childhood friends
And life and love and oxygen
Are unfulfilling in the end.
You’re left with being human,
mere flesh and blood and bone,
with needs that are left unmet,
and only shadows for a home.
And so I lay my trust with you,
that we might find my long way home
I’ve hidden subtle wretchedness,
that you might sing along.
I’ve knelt before your senses
and ask that you might pray,
to ask your sullen maker why
he will not end my days.