Her body is made from recycled materials; her mother's eyes and father's nose. Her voice is filled with church hymns and sharp sarcasm. The lacey white dress she wears to church is only for the daytime, and it fades with the night. She carries her masks like her LSD in her bible. She is a tightrope dancer, a balancing act under the big top of her community. If she falls, the crowd will attack; swarm in with violent screams and brand her body sinful. She has always been to much to handle. Her presence is strong, known. She has the holy fire in her belly and yet smoke is anything but of a higher power. She has always known the higher power, more so than anyone. But as of late she as felt more distance between her humble place on Earth and the high heavens above and she is desperate to fill the gap. Poppin' pills from kids she doesn't know the name of and drinkin' cheap liquor that makes her remember there is a devil. And she dances with him every night. As of late, she has found a home in his fire and brimstone. It is warmer than the chilling stares of judgment she feels in between the pews. Everyday is judgment day. The haze consumes her and she can't tell where its coming from rather she doesn't care because it fills the gap. She is so high, she whispers to him,
"I can see God."
" I see him and he is something sinful."