I Wish, I'm Sorry....

So I drank the thin gruel of rejection.

Disguised under armour of love.

It tastes of cold vomit, cold tit milk begrudged.

Don’t preach to me now of a mother’s love.

Go pray then to saintly Mary.

“It’s ok now” the statue speaks.

But it’s not and never will be.

Forgiveness comes with caveats, the memories repeat.