Interlude

I didn't get on my knees to pray, because the last time I was on my knees was in no way spiritual
and in the end you just called me a whore anyway.
Instead, I stand in the middle of my cluttered room and try to push my anxiety out of the back of my throat
Of course, once I get to that point I realize I never knew how to pray - So I lay back down on a frigid mattress that I can't bring myself to call mine.

"You have no reason to be upset." I laugh between watching the blackberry juices biting the surface of my arm
and making me feel whole.
I'd rather paint my skin in water colors than be a lifeless pale green
                             
                                                incidentally, the color of stomach acid reminds me of you.

It's hard to measure up to silent expectations
So I hold my breath until I get dizzy enough to be upside down between two sheets of fog
and never plan on coming home.

You were the 'shame on me' kind of guy
and I still have a charcoal bruise on the back of my thigh to prove it.
It stings when I sit down, and I just can't understand why it's not fading
and why I can still hear you laughing 6,000 miles away

              I just don't understand why God won't initiate the conversation.