There is no rest for the wicked

and that cool breeze of longing will fill your chest. you will clutch, claw and unearth all of that hope till it is budding roses in your fingernails with petals that drip burning lilac honey and the sin of all the unrooted forget-me-nots and farewells you did not tend to.

Your mistakes will precede you. They will count your blessings, name them, swallow them whole and turn back to grin at you with desperation between their teeth.

you will wade in when you are half full, or half empty or a completely finished heartache and allow yourself to be taken captive. a boat, a sea casket, the first passenger ship to be buried anywhere but the lands you came from.

maybe you’ll find redemption In God and all his synonyms. and when you sit in front of the window praying to the rain or to the works of your flesh maybe you’ll remember and maybe you’ll hate yourself for it because love was just too much for you to handle.