Oh, the being of,
"I'm homesick."
and home
is a person.

All from that angle,
collarbones and
shades of Heaven
splattered with the ink
of Hell,
were a man may pilgrimage
dying lost and breaking
only to collapse
like a star
falling in and resting
head on chest.

"Life is pain"
it says to me,
my broken, mending heart.

"Just cut here,
and you'll be free", says
my broken, mending heart.

But you're just hurt
you must agree,
my broken, mending heart.

And in time,
you and I,
will reconcile reality.

So take your time,
but come back to me,
my broken, mending heart.

And everything broke,
in the end.

Like the teapots
we so delicately
cared for,
now shattered.

My heart is aching,
if it weren't so numb.

So I disappear

God I love you
endlessly in your white sheet atrophy.

Distraught in my condolences,
drunk in my demeanor.

Fill me up with all your lust.

I can only exclaim what you have done.

Picked away, again it bleeds.

How much until you are satisfied?

Will I be left alive,  
afterwards?

Will I survive this
calling rope and loaded chamber?

Some words from those most close
but nothing from the one that mattered most.

The one that could have filled the holes
he left when he left.

I've cut you off like an extra arm,
something useful at times,
but mostly just in the way.

And sometimes I look down at it
on Father's Day,
and wonder why
I ever let
you in.

So now I've severed my phantom limb
made your death in my life permanent
and with losing you from my life
I regain it.