I have no Joseph Severn

Written in

by

(a mistruth)

My son.

What little I have

I give to you.

What little you gain

–or lose–

you shall make.

A pittance.

Having seen it all,

as much as one can behold,

I know assuredly,

as I hold your shoulders in telling,

Look at me.

We are nothing.

I can protect nothing.

Not your body nor your mind.

You inherit only

your beating heart.

And this blood of mine.

This life

a curse

and the only boon.

How I dared even to conceive you.

Forgive me.

Please.

Resent me not.

For I feared,

as you will learn too,

discontinuation.

If anything,

I can only promise

one entitlement.

Death.

To preserve myself,

I grant you this torch.

Life.

Carry it.

So long as you can.

For the few drawn breaths

that remain to you.

And perhaps

you will have the courage,

or the misfortune,

of not passing this flame along.

Regardless,

I love you.

As a scar

loves a mirror.

Not the toil,

not the pain,

this.

This conversation,

which you may one day have.

Is the hardest of moments.

From Father,

to son.

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One response to “I have no Joseph Severn”

  1. kkander Avatar

    This is one of my least favorites of all time. Which probably means it will be someone’s favorite read. Whatever, sicko. I was wine drunk at a friend’s house when I wrote it. Two glasses of wine is all it takes to churn out this trash. We’ll see what three glasses gets us one of these days?

    Like

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