As his mother tucked him in and gave him a kiss on the cheek, he reminded her to leave the door open. Hands stained with cotton sheets and nursery rhymes still stuck in her teeth, she smiled and said "the door is always open." He continuously assured her that it wasn't the dark he was afraid of but the hall light stayed on until he was 9. As he blew out pink candles on his 10th birthday cake, the echoes of mocking classmates burned threw his lips. He thought maybe thats what it felt like to sin. The same feeling he gets when he grasps the doorknob of a church building, the same feeling as when he kissed his first kiss within bare walls, the one that broke skin when he fell for live ash in the back row of biology class. The black lungs on display resembled his, only cigarettes werent the cause this time. The air between the two of them was so tainted with moral, it became toxic.
A melody of slammed doors played on repeat, screaming for repentance but no one seems to recognize this hymn. The chorus won't harmonize. Jesus loves me this I know, for my mother told me so...WAIT. Thats not how its supposed to go. Paper cut tongues slurring same *** through biased mouths is not a religion. Protesting through scriptures against thy neighbor, he locks the door. And the church is silent.