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The Family
And I see the rotted corpses
fondling the skeletons uncomprehending,
They know they should still be alive.
I see them with eye sockets of maggots
Wishing they were just a little blinder.
And I see the skeletons prancing around
Skinny as ever.
Generations of decline all in one room
And they gasp just to pull in some air.
But this air is only that which was already exhaled one too many times.
I see them with their long hair and nails
Looking in the mirror at the models, they should be.
I hear them screaming in fear of the rats
Who would like to eat them.
And I see them grown used to the stench that is who they are.
I see their essence evaporating.
I know they call their essence a soul.
But their essence is more like something which should be cleansed.
And they mimic each other
not out of flattery
Just out of hate.
They just don’t know whom they hate more,
Themselves, or each other.
They call this a party
And avoid seeing the cemetery
That is their congregation.
They speak of the Lord and how much he loves them.
They speak of their human Fathers
And how long ago they left them.
They replay the old songs in their heads,
And refuse to say when they lost their faith in them.
They are jaded, but wanting some comfort.
They are lonely,
And when they are together they only reinforce
The death that has suffocated them.
They remember the best
And they remember
They were never meant to live.
And then the skeletons come and ask the corpses for some mercy
and the corpses look at these pitiful creatures
who should be so much more
These creatures who faded so much quicker
and instead of seeing some victory in this
They speak in outrage of the failure
To cling to what you have,
Even if it is only failure.
