I have always had an uneasy longing to be
Godless in a world ful of Devils,

as I walk blindly down an unfamiliar road, I force my keys between my fingers,

I hear the sound of glasses breaking,
the aftershock of a fist making
contact with a jaw

someone is following me and,
despite myself, I pray

later, when I wake from the haze
of a Rohypnal dream

catch sight of my siren red bra
on a hostile floor

inhabiting a body that aches,
beating to the rhythm of a clam -
like heart

head spinning, a brain that has been
suddenly stunted,

I wonder how I could have turned
to God?

To have turned my back
on the Devils, to be caught
unawares

is this my punishment for a fickle faith?

the boy who cried wolf,
eventually burning beneath the sun

why do my legs shake with rage
at the thought of ever

praying?