shame is a fictitious thing

i’m the ghost who still attends classes.

i lean against the window,

my breath cannot stain it.

i am perfectly faded

into translucent shreds

i am the horned one who pleads.

i am a child crawling down from

the clouds and up from the gutter,

towards my wings…oh,

must i forget how the wind

flew through me?

i am the cloaked man

who ushers the cold,

blood-skinned child

with my milky hands,

untouched by time,

saying,

“you are safe.”