When someone finally writes this story

Perhaps it will be said

That this was not the story of void

Of clinical space

Of something missing

Of something not there

Everything was there

Too much was there

Perhaps it will be said

That this

This story of sudden and irreversible implosion

Was a story of sin

Beautiful sin

Contaminated sin

Toxic sin




Even brothers and sons

Sin upon sin

Sin inside sin

You were the ink

When he signed his name

And you were the blood

When he pretended to atone

You were none of this

You were all of this

But then you dared to walk away

To hide in billows of stenciled silence

And this was the greatest of all your sins

Perhaps it will be said

That of all the sins

You wrote in his name

This was your singular

Most authentic act

Of raw

Unsimulated violence

Your decision to live

Rather than to die inside his script

To breathe

Rather than clot inside his head

Perhaps it will be said