Catholic Guilt


A former busybody,


too involved with Others.

My selflessness, just a facade:

am I appearing kind enough?

Sincerity melting away

in the pool I am floating in.

The sun heats the top of head.

It doesn’t gleam. It taunts.

On a quest for


from the moon.

(It hides from me.)

Whisperings among the trees,

cackling among the flowers.

A small box

in my hands

filled with all of my

gruesome guilt.

Leaking from the box,

it drips at my feet.

I smile,

throw the box, and

run from my own entrapment.

Published by Jaz


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: