It is always this way before the deluge,
The ever-so-slight jag of raised pitch,
A jutting-out of intonation where once there
stood still.
That is how we know the flood has arrived.
A steady snot stream now trickling
through my left nostril
A hyperventilating puddle of pleas
P- gasp p-p-puh gasp please
Please?
It is pathetic
I am pathetic, really.
You, empathetic.
Really.
Have already felt the twist of poison in your gut
where I saw pure gold
(I swear to you, it glistened from a distance)
You are cut at the thought of what its blunt edge
could do to my fingers out-stretched
(Even rust and rot glimmer under just the right lighting)
“My darling, my child
Can’t you see there’s nothing there for you?”
ABOUT// wanting what we should not
1 John 5:14
