I Think It's A Curse

I think it's a curse, something dark, something black, generational like a spreading bruise.

Like the god of love slapped a whole lot of hard energy into a black spot, a mark, on the head or hand.

Jesus the carpenter contructing a massive cold shoulder and a mote in the eye.

Forever outside the circle, forever on the edge of the light, forever in the fade.

Forever fucked to be just that 

fucked 

a tiny thing a gray speck on a static fabric and I can tell you about the fade

how a child is absorbed

I tell you

tell you

god

damn

its a curse

a generational thing

blood gone black

like used gum

stamped into a

spreading stain 

against the gray

of the 

great

everlasting

fade.