When love grows cold, we buy and sell
For we rather ******* than despair
—the fighting spirit empowering the Beast—
But love waits, in pain, crying silently unseen
No exchange without the mark of the Beast
Driving to desperation and worship
Those who live by their wits and arms
COVID19 will expose who these are

I can’t help but be a child of Cain
My hands too ****** to be holy
Too stained to be washed clean

I was once told that we are our own thoughts and actions
So does that make me a ****** for being a bad person?
Is that all I’ll ever be?

The sin is strong in me
It’s the sin of not getting better
Of continuing the hurt
Past down, man upon man, wife upon husband, parent upon child, stranger upon stranger
Blood you keep coughing back up
That won’t leave your body

We touch so many people in our lives
But how many do we scar?
It’s human nature to both love and to maul
Especially on those close to us
Especially when we aren’t aware we’re even doing it

Now, I don’t believe in God
This poem isn’t religious in the slightest
But if I met him I would ask
Is Hell the last destination?
Can we ever get better?
Can our hands learn to be tender and to hold instead of trying to choke one another?
Is there still salvation for us, for people like me?

I don’t know what his answer would be
And I don’t think I’d want to find out

This must be destiny

I hear echoes of warnings from my former self ricocheting in my head

This must be deserved for the plethora of ways I have hurt people

To mark me with pain I will remember and maybe be a better person

This must be fate
There was no other way out

I still hope things will improve but I think this suffering was intended and therefore my punishment must be served

we walk through the garden
the one beside the house with the yellow door
watching the geese lay in their pond
then we look up at the night sky
gazing the wonders that are the stars
and you start singing
la vie en rose

the water ripples
you start skipping stones
the long grass brushed against our ankles
as if it were a cat, rubbing its head on us

the grass left a mark on my shoes
but it’s all right
because you left a mark on my heart.