When the son said "Father
What must I do'
I'll do it no matter the cost."
The Father replied,
"There's only one thing to do
You must follow the road to the cross."

Mocked and scorned and beaten
He gave his life
For the lost;
He did not wish to go
But he followed the road to the cross.

The way to the cross isn't easy
It's narrow and it's straight;
But it's a road that must be taken
If we're to enter Heaven's gate.

4/19/2015
dedicated to the girl I used to be

crushed right next to the
broken glass.
"I don't write
nearly as much poetry
as I used to,"
I tell her in the orange light
of the German café
this time it is shining in through.

"Like you used to
before you were sedated?"
No.
I suppose it must be the weather.

I remember dancing to morrissey
in my darkened room at 3:43 am
on a January tuesday,

it was a good lay, good lay,good lay
Like some sort of charicature of teenage one dimensionality

I remember picking up a half empty
Heineken at a dorm room right before
winter finals like some sort of charcature of teenage pretentiousness and

putting my tights on, "my mom thinks I'm shopping, cute, right?"
Old floor crushing my shins minute before like some sort of charcature of teenage indulgences

"Don't you sort of miss the cold?"
I ask, picking at the cake and
the girl I used to be this time last year
infinitely more innocent weeps at

confrontation

Crystals of white for a childs first kiss
***** is temporary bliss
Eyes like lace and teeth like coals
Coughing up bruises and spitting out souls
Breaking waves that bury the sea
Swallowing down all its debris
Fingertips shivering up your spine
Caskets of pills and velvet devine
A mother with shaking hands
Only a whispering brutality understands
Seven for the morning
All to make life slightly more adorning
Pale skin and sleepless nights
Veins covered in cloth while the frost bites
Hollow bones and painless cries
Blood vessels knawing at her thighs
Embroidered pleas
A religion to throw you to your knees
*Black lace and the codeine scene