Sweet natured child. I’m told that was me.
In love with God. Enraptured by the sea.
Laughing and running, strange stories to tell.
Was I an angel when I was born? Have I fell?
I stroke her hair. I am warm. I am coming down.
I kiss her head. She sleeps easy. I gave her my crown.
I bury my face in her short hair. Her perfume gives dreams.
I am coming down. I am at a loss. My broken heart screams.
Restless, I put on hoodie and sweats, go onto the roof.
Stars remind of before I was born. God is bored, aloof.
He’d say it’s all my fault. Rev. Bradley too. I light a smoke.
When I am in her arms, I know what truth Jesus spoke.
A child is a ghost, an open wound, when you grow up.
The delights become darker. You tarnish your grail cup.
I strip naked, crawl into bed beside her, still wide awake,
filled with a dread, a sorrow, a rage, I can never shake.