Going Back

I am dying from the inside. 

I can feel it.

The part of me that yearns for it 

The part that secretly wishes.

And its name is Stress. 

Its name is Guilt. 

Its name is Shame.

Its name is Pain.

I can see her face 

Contorted 

Painted with tears. 

I still blame myself. 

I still wish for everything to end. 

So I might forget. 

So I might make the dark darker. 

There is an oak tree outback 

With sturdy branches

For me to crucify myself.

And another 

To build a home. 

And another 

Rooted to forces 

That transcend

This small separate 

Illusion of self. 

This self that must die 

If another 

More powerful one 

Is to come alive,

Is to restore me 

To health, 

To health, 

To wholeness 

The Holy Communion 

Of all things. 

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