I invited you into my heart
as a child and I’ve spent
decades — unsuccessfully,
unconvincingly — asking You to leave.
You were… are… the veins
carrying life through this hollow
body; the obligate parasite whose
host will die without it; the cure
for — and prescriber of — guilt.
You demanded I witness, love,
consume your crumbled flesh,
and taught me disdain for mine.
You rejoiced in my imitations
of your suffering.
Your constant reminders of
my shame, my worth, my sin,
(the justification of your suffering, my gratitude)
I’ll carry eternally.
I have missed you.
At least, I will miss you.
Eventually.
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