A friend to talk to over coffee.

What are the fears keeping me up?
Insuring my morning arrives with tears.

Sadness. A small precise weight laid heavily on a heart.
Clenched like a mad fist. I am growing crazy.
Lunacy. A friend to talk to over coffee.

Who convinced me as a child I had a bleeding heart?
It’s not like I wrote this man mad and depressed. Beaten. Beating.
Bleeding me and all close of our furious and unpredictable brokenness.

I want more than all things to help it along.

Work like a well paid servant for my external biological community.
Family. And not just scattered weekends and weak ends, but the kingdom.
The kingdom of twisted roots tainting everything I remember.

That thought. Making me stay up late and wake up early.
Keeping me frail and ceaselessly surly, perched on the verge of tears.
Betrayal. The betrayal brought to me by a friend I once called brother.
And as well as that discourteous bloody reaction,
there is the betrayal I intend to enact on others.

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