Rediscovering Mourning

I thought I was done crying.
These past few days I’ve done nothing but
Move and work. Like a Machine, a God-
Less man, who cared not for formalities,
Yet showed mercy at a discretion entirely my own.

I thought I was done noticing.
The slightly stunned faces of those who
Had scorned me. Their surprise at my even-
Ness of tone, the subtlety of Wrath that
Had satisfied me, even without initial impact.

I was sure I was done caring.
The haunted words and prodding details that
Governed my life. I had pushed them aside and
Could live free, it occurs now that I had
Only tried to make due with what was left.

I was convinced I was succeeding.
The delusions of Love that permeated
Every human being. I alone sought to
Dispel my “need” for it. Love not man, instead
Love no one and live for myself.

I was certain I was done convulsing.
That the neuroticism was, or should have been,
Gone forever. That I had conquered, survived,
And that my work would continue. Forlorn is
The Fag that knows God and knows himself.

There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
He will be robbed of joy, even in his happiest of occasions.
He will be plagued by law and depression.
And as he fails, each time he fails,
He will regress, I will regress.

I thought I knew pain. Obviously
 not well enough, For
I dared to seek to love again.