Don’t worry,
Dad.
I’ll absolve all our sins.
Pay any penance.
I’ve ripped the flesh from my body,
After all.
Remember?
Studded myself with rocks,
From thigh to neck.
What iron maiden,
Could harm me?
Delicately plucking stones,
From my shoulder.
After riding the ten kilometres back home.
Rinsing out messy wounds,
Of dirt & blood.
More annoyed at the scars,
Where my tattoo marred.
Where I ripped the very ink,
From my skin.
Do you get it,
Old man?
Could you understand?
When they speak of me,
Centuries from now.
I’ll remain nameless.
Clan name,
One of many.
No true name to steal.
Becoming faceless,
Barely a person in the first place.
You can’t villify my clan,
Any further.
We’re already fucking broken enough.
Most of us are dead.
But I promise you,
This strength was earned.
Crawling through mud,
Breathing sawdust.
Father,
It’s time.
You who still have a first name.
You’re worth more than you think,
You know.
I refuse to let you waste away.
Rage against the dying of the light.
Not that you’re a man of poems.
But sentiment can persist,
Ideas flowing & changing.
Pygmalion Complex,
As we gaze back across our histories.
I refuse to quit.
Do you?
7 day weeks.
14 hour days.
This insanity,
Beyond the limits of other men,
Than us.
Talents?
Wasted.
Come,
Build empires with me instead.
I’ll take this name,
War poet legacy intact.
Spellings be damned.
You’re too good for this world.
Let me corrupt you.
Teach you how to be a monster,
That eats other monsters.
Of Dirt & Blood.
