I never asked who I was praying to
never needed to know
just Watched the dice roll as wishes did off my tongue
Cringed on the gamblers table.
See, my sister needed a bike
As much as she craved transportation
I craved sin more.
So when god dialed his voicemail and got my wish for fire
He transfered over the call
Or rather, down
And I became a jumble of kindling and wood.
On Christmas, the bike sat beneath the tree in a big red ribbon.
My sister sat with her hands clasped in prayer, and suddenly her fingers fell off.
She couldn't ride a bike with no fingers,
So santa swapped out the tags.
Signing the bike over to me.
Soaking my sisters tears in my flames.
Greed wasn't the only thing I prayed for,
I asked for ***. Lots of ***. And coffee. And Comic Sans to dissapear forever
And I got it. Most of it.
I still have to deal with ******* Comic Sans.
Even God cannot be that kind.
With all my wishes there was a price,
A horror, a trauma, to balance out all my bad karma for making these "wishes"
Or "deals".
With whoever was listening
If not God, someone...
It was Becky.
I call it Becky.
The voice
It's less intimidating than schizophrenia, or D.I.D, or the Devil.
When I pray to Becky.
She does not say a word back. she giggles,
In the corners of my eyes, waiting.
Listening to me beg for vices, slowly sacrificing my sanity.
Giving me everything I ask for,
And taking everything I want.