I'm told my disgrace begins at St. Anne's
the park across the street.
Fitting Saint for me and my lowest degree...
She, being the Pardon Saints of wayward women..
un-married.. likely pregnant...
She, the Patron Saint of Whores.
The evidence you gathered is thoughtlessly strewn before your feet being an open slap to your face.
So shamelessly I cannot deny
my sins against your reputation.
This myth you created I cannot convince you to reject
blatent black and white
displayed for your believing eyes alone
so incredulous
so ridiculous
when I attempt to show you reason.
In you I cannot find reason.
Oh Saint Anne, my sincerest apologies
no need for you to witness this poetic ludicrously.
My darling, my lover,
my sweet fallen angel
start taking your fucken pills.
©flailing
F