i wake up in the middle of the night with
the ghost of god pressing his hand
against my face, buttoning my collar too
tight and telling me to smile even though
i cannot breathe. there are those who
look to him for mercy, but i know the
truth--he is a trickster, a jester, and he
makes me the fool. he supplants self-
worth with loneliness; he holds up your
desires up to let the light shine through
them, so that you see all you ever wanted
become translucent and frail, bloodless
veins in full view, twitching in an effort to
live again.

sometimes, i still beg him, i still fall to my
knees and clasp my hands together, a
tableau of faith. i ask him to spare me,
the words thin and metallic on my tongue,
needles swimming with the diseases of all
those who used them before me. i put all
my chips on the table, bartering this and
that for the simple feeling of being whole.
but in the end, i am left with nothing but
a shadow and a doubt, wondering why i
let myself have any hope when i know
how easily it can turn from lifeline to
anchor.

i have held my heart out and watched as
the devil feasted on it, spitting it out again
and showing me love-stained teeth. my
dreams are choked with desire and fear,
the sunlight is bleached black by my dread
of yet another day.

there is passion trapped in the heat of my
skin, bravery caught on the tips of my
teeth, but i cannot possibly pretend that
i have any strength left. god knows i am
finished; i have lost my words in floods
and torrents, i am scraping along the
furrows of my mind just for one more
verse. if i have lost you, tell me, what
sort of loving god would take this from
me, too?