The Prodigal Son 
 
Wishing he was dead 
I strained at the boring bonds of now, 
grasping for what could be. 
 
He looked and listened 
and reached his trembling hand towards my cheek- 
but I was not there. 
 
The distant land embraced my manic mind 
until my lustful longings were all spent. 
And, coming to my senses, I returned with shame 
and found him breathing still- 
and wasteful of his love. ​