Today, I recall:
the days when we were kids
and we used to drink from the sky
and they told us the tales about the man
who lives in the field with his gun.

They lied.

Remember how we drank from the sky?
Remember how we licked the sun?

But their tales were false.

the man didn't live in a field.
he lived so close to home.
he lived in my home.

with his rifle for a tongue.

and, he shot my trust to the floor.
with seven words
in my seventh year.

He shot everything I would ever know
and feel about trust
straight down to the floor.
(with seven words)

a simple concept splitting my life
in three.

But yet, we remained as

one.

Maybe today,
or tomorrow,
perhaps, the day after that,

this concept will make sense to me.

Maybe when somebody says a heartfelt
"I do"
and not lend their rib cage to a ***** to rest on,

this concept will make sense to me.

Right now,
all it is, is just another gospel.