he wanted to stay as badly as i wanted to breathe; that’s why he’s leaving

He being all that He wanted Himself to be was in turn a Warlord.  He’ll go to a new home and cradle the new walls and new poles like a fetus forgotten behind an ancient crib.  A mute child, stolen by the grips, not of mankind, but of her kind.  “My mediums are graphite and ink.  I use the human body as an inspiration.”

His eyes regress and I refuse to trek down to their sorrow but his grip fastens.  I’ll never know what I actually think but I see the lines and I love them since he drew them and they’re beautiful.  When he leaves, please let him bring his paper and pencil-

But leave the pills at home.