Deathbed
Ingrained in all my thoughts
is a flower of hopelessness. Bright and blurry -
sticky with a sweet ambrosia of indifference.
You cradled me and loved me
when all you could think of was to give me
away to the blackness in my fathers heart.
Greatness is the weather,
you said – while struggling to breathe. And I believed
you while you looked away unsure.
Hooked up to your life support
I could tell you were glad you couldn’t see
us sobbing in a blasphemous embrace of forgiveness.
