god can’t hear me

i'm prying at the door for god to let me in until my nails bleed and stain my skin, drying and flaking like sin. i want to tell him about an old lover, but everything is dying. i want to tell her about how he left me long ago, my ear is pressed

up against the door and i hear the hum of the light in the next room over.

life resides there, there is even a sliver of hope for the aching pity of my heart. the wick of my body burns with hatred for him, i'll eventually evaporate to nothingness, the scent and feel will only linger for a brief moment's time.

the white floss wrapped around my fingers, pulling and pushing the strands wrapped around my index fingers, ridding of the kernels of cour wedged tightly between two alabaster heads between pink gums; it's reminded me of you. hard to rid of, i've been hopeless about it for the longest time. i think my teeth are decaying, the scent from my open mouth is unbearable. everything is dying, and i from the outside in too.

your body is something that’s formed to resemble you, but it isn’t you. what is it? you're dead and dying too.

the twinkle of red and white lights come from behind as we're driving away to some place. my new lover sits at the driver's seat, he looks in his rearview mirror before pulling off to the side of the road. in the seconds we’ve exchanged words before the siren warning, someone endured something far less than a kind fate. later that night we learned the burns were beyond third degree. everything is dying. i am reminded of you again, the panicked call to rush to your house. i remembered you were everything that was dying. i wonder if that’s how i looked trying to get to you, when the dirt road formed potholes, it was difficult to try to chase. there was nothing else that came from it. i thought about that person whose life was in a state of an emergency four times since then, but i thought of you a million times after.

this ache is far greater than anything i’ve endured, i am uncertain of what is supposed to come after it. it’s so easy in theory. everything is kind of dying, plagued by lover's guilt. i am at the mercy of the poet, i end on his terms. he must see me as foolish, to be so thankful for cruelty. he has the power to undo me, to pull at every thread he could to ensure that my humility is something i no longer possess.

between the violence i endured and the act of everything kind of dying, this alone is tame by comparison. it made me realise the acts anyone will take, risks bleed out the horrors before they get to the good parts. everything is kind of dying.