Dear God.

Dear God,

This is our first time conversing, but I'll skip the small talk.

Everyone around me is dying, God.

The back page of the newspaper is a paper cemetery I visit once a week and leave flowers on people's grave stones with the ink from my favourite pen.

Why are they dying, God?

Is massed death part of some divine plan sworn to the secrecy conversations leading in the subject of your existence are sworn to?

I want to believe your acting as a father but today that girl lost her father, and today that father stood sobbing over a wooden coffin lined with satin and unanswered prayers, so God, where were you?

Maybe this is one more step leading to the finale in your master plan but please, can you offer us some reprieve?

From the stench of panic ruining our clothes, from the stench of panic ruining us, from the stench of panic.

Dear God,

love thy self doesn't register where I'm from so I'm speaking to you, God. I've found a murderer within myself, God, storms in my head, gun powder in my lungs, God, I need help, God, I need someone, God!

Atheism used to feel like the comforter I'd snuggle into after a long time far from home, but now atheism is that long time far from home and I miss my family, God.

Everyone's dead, God.

My hometown no longer riddled with gossip of the latest death, swarming with the bees of grief, air littered with the pollen made from rotten tears, so please answer one final thing.

God, if everyone's abandoned your divine plan, may I abandon you?