self-helpless was i

I saw you before you were born. The interview went well. You were optimistic towards the opportunity ahead. Although all the suffering baked into this cake was unappealing, wholeness of being beckoned.
Despite western ways to be forced on an eastern soul, despite aggravated assault in the capitalist moshpit, despite countless insipid efforts towards persona redux, and begging martyrs of grave emotional toxicity, you would not resist the call.

You bravely went under the spell of your god, and i watched on edge as they cleared your cache and robbed your memory bank, ritual washing you. Then they dressed you in snow white linens as your affect went flat. Baby powder, and the shaving of head. You will do well in America, they told you. You looked at them blank. Confused, but so willing. 

Tears suddenly welled up my eyes and placed you safely inside one saltwater drop. After you left me, my love, I carefully swept up your off-color locks. With my hands. Tearful, I took up the salt and pepper remnants of my one true love of this life. On my knees now. Sweeping.

Weeping. I held you soft in my hands there, and ritually cursed the insipid god who i believed at that moment, responsible for this.

Our unchained tragedy.
My uprooted life.
Unmoored heart.
Broken.
Again.