I have all these headcanons about young Papas being forced by Sister Imperator to go to church just like anyone because they grew up in Pretty Conservative Eras and they didn’t want a hoard of pious villagers chasing them with lanterns and shotguns :

  • Young Papa I blurting out the wrong words during collective prayers, ending up praising Satan instead
  • Him shamelessly accusing Sister Imperator of teaching him wrong
  • All the young Papas trying to find excuses not to perform their ablutions because Holy Water is. a. goddamn. poison to them

  • Young Papa III nearly dying because he’s been dared by a choir boy to drink Holy Water and the huge dork did it

  • Young Papas seeing random appiritions of the Devil, but always hiding their eyes when they talk to him because they can’t bear to look at Him

  • Papa III being the most obvious about it and trying to shoo him away loudly during masses

  • “look father i’m busy rn but brb so we can chill lmao”

  • Priests suspecting something is up with these Odd Faeries Children, but ending up blaming Sister Imperator because she’s a lonely, old woman and lonely old women are always up to no good someone told me

  • Papa II once almost getting exorcised because the suspictions were too strong, but Daddy Who Art In Hell coming to save his son’s ass and scare the priests away

  • The ENTIRE Ghost Church moving out every two years or so after this incident for as long as their heir is still a child, so people don’t recognize him in the streets

Outside visual frame
The shadows consume
riverstones in jagged edges
it seems impossible to breathe
when the soil baren, cobwebbed
fashions of misconstruing
phantom binaural beats
flitting across scales of
unheard melodies.

All these words, long forgotten
Ancient relics, never to be found
brick walled, beating mind
against what

…I could once, fly over.

Lain in wait, a restless forgotten
a meriment appirition scripted
only to be silent into contrast
media fashionable stories
a passerby wears a crown

…I choke, on life.

Once upon a time,
I was someone
in that frame
Once upon a time,
I was without thirst
my eyes bright, my vision seen.

But now, no…not now
I am corners and impeding
uphauling fractions
another cloak upon the back
of everything that is wrong
with me.

sitting alone, tuesday 2 am
Nothing of words, or flair
can revive myself from this coffin.

Not even awareness of my death.

Shuffled off for mass media
a better story
a brighter face
a indigenous smile
is where light has crept away
far away from the throne
I once reigned.