did home tire me
or did i vex it?
you let me down when you
(always the other) ripped,
again. in my youth, i spilled
over you, a little over middle C.
dark red on canvas. i found
your lens on the wall, a grave.
who cares what you think of me?
your sock beckons history.
yes it must be. it's not forever,
you melodramatic wannabe.
i tumble behind bowlers
into dark rooms, you know,
and raise red flags.
i despise the chains
because my mother did.
a grave and the letters
you addressed to me
i tossed unopened,
like your longing
for me.
in disdain i spun
the smiling family
i did not choose to betray.
i strolled to the the thrum of bells.
you disgusted me so how
could i choose to squish the memory?
shut eyes reek of fear and apathy.
their drums crumble and enfold
me. yes when may day came for me,
all i wished was for a scattering.
conceal me under that porcelain
basin and let the water
run whilst the youth
leaders march on,
in time with the beat
of history.