Catholic Guilt

6.27.18

A former busybody,

persistently

too involved with Others.

My selflessness, just a facade:

am I appearing kind enough?

Sincerity melting away

in the pool I am floating in.

The sun heats the top of head.

It doesn’t gleam. It taunts.

On a quest for

wisdom

from the moon.

(It hides from me.)

Whisperings among the trees,

cackling among the flowers.

A small box

in my hands

filled with all of my

gruesome guilt.

Leaking from the box,

it drips at my feet.

I smile,

throw the box, and

run from my own entrapment.

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