I am alive in limbo,
fitted with the homage
of royalty - 15m x 10m
cell, walk in ensuite,
love the granite-marble substitute.
Heed no house rules, just that
never, ever speak, it'll
only end in your beheading.
It feels indecent to say, my
mother and her boyfriend,
but life doesn't give all
perfect sounding words
or fathers.
I'm a statistic, result of
every 3 in 5 who collapse,
had been editor in chief, and
director of production, could still
have messed up.
My father said, listen to your mother,
from where he stood, across
the world, and my mother says
he never wanted you.
They all urge, call him dad
You're lucky someone stomachs
this ruin, and why does that
make me want to vomit?
12 hours out of Purgatory, issue
some pardon me notes, for a
reunion with a glass of justice,
keep your name and excuses,
I wear these disgraces by the star
of David over my head.
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