Thursday?

Dear 'anyone', someone...
if there is
actually anyone
out here/there/somewhere.

Would you tell me if
scars couldn't ever be loved...?


Do you read eyes
or the scars next to them?

Try reading a book.


Sitting like a log (or a logo on an advert)
doesn't fit into my hands so well
as a biscuit. Does it fit it? Would it, really,
if I meant it? Would Church on Sunday be heavy and
almost-worth-it if I really even gave a shit?



I can try.



But I could tell you a story or two... ever felt Hell
sting, like a thousand razors catching
in hot-bath water.. that turns the bubbles red.
Ka-ching!
Wouldn't it sting to believe in THAT thing,
that hope, who could cling
to that?
Ever wondered what a rock felt like -
steady, would it bleed if it was heavy -
and will you put your Father in a box
or will he carry
you?

I ain't got a clue.
I was watered, like a plant, on the first week.
Couldn't that be re-wound, like winding up
a trick or treat...?

I've been defeated. It's bleedingly obvious.
I'm bleeding all over you. Can't you even see?
My teeth are falling out, like the stars in the sky,
and all you keep asking is WHEN, WHERE AND WHY.

I can try.



And why won't God answer my prayers
when I pray to die?