I sat with my Father, And He spoke to me, Softly, As we watched the sun descend, With my weary head rested, On His chest, I told Him of the skeletons I hid, Behind the coats and boots. “That one’s named Val.” “Ahh Val!” He recognized fondly, As He gave it skin and flesh and a face. “He’s been here a while.” I nodded. “I killed Val.” I whispered. “A dream of yours?” “Nightmare.” I shook my head, “Recurring.” The ache in my heart drew out the admission, “Father, I’ve been volatile.” He smiled, “Volatile child, I am your Father.”
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