a letter home to your mother
about all the sins you repented
the ones she wished you would leave
the ones she will never understand
breathing in and out until your lungs stop
waiting in your head
thoughts of saviours in the neon
formal parties dressed in hell
your blood drips off the tip
onto linoleum like pent up regret
half of yourself left to be
the other to be nothing at all
it meant a lot to be here
to get help for yourself
but you came as a saint
wishing to wash off the nonexistence
crying in the dark
while your mind escaped
into a fog of the woods
outside your window they stood
now you do not stand
at least not for yourself
but you left with a purpose
a self righteous regret
now we paint in your blood
to make pictures of grace
but it haunts us
you were always a haunted house
YOU ARE READING
if not human
Poetrythe anthology of emotion, the passing of life, the epilogue of pure, unfiltered regret this is "if not human" poems, prose and stories from the dark
