to my ugly children on a tuesday morning

As I yelled at you silently this morning,
each for the sin of loving me,
secretly I hoped you'd forgive me
for all the things I really meant.

You are old now, and real perhaps
misery is your cloak against too much joy?
The only wall between your goodness
and that blood I left to rot you from the inside.

Forgive me for that, your only weakness:
I can not help myself for me.
Oh Love, is such a painful future, and this
is the curse I've laid upon you:

The desperate catastrophe of intelligence, and
the woe of simple happiness in every damned moment.

Oh Hope is such a merry daily death and this is for you
the unconditional burden of destiny which I can not lift.
Forgive me, my children, for your life and every breath
I spat so sullenly into your once only dreamt lungs.

Forgive me, my children, for all this love -- my curse
from which you will never be free.