He is biblical.
I’ve never had the taste for it,
but I will take his communion
and believe in something,
anything.

I’ve been splitting my knuckles on doorframes
just to know some peace.
Broken skin doesn’t hurt like it should.
Where are your healing lips tonight?
Kiss the poetry away from me;
bury it deep and out of sight.
It will find a way to ruin this.
I don’t ask for eternity.
I ask for one lifetime
knowing where your hands have been,
what they have built,
and who they have destroyed.

He is biblical;
I have always worshipped
someone else’s god.