I asked Satan for divorce
He said, “Alright, of course,
But you’re still swimming
In waters lukewarm and shallow.”
Here I thought I was hallowed
But I’m wrestling something nameless
I want it to be solid
His name is full of consonants
But I feel the vowels are valid
In His world it’s black or white
Night or day, light or dark
I ponder which one I am
As I count the ripples on tree bark
How long is my shelf life
How far can I travel safely
How much more can I take
Will I ever find my place
Butterflies into bombers
We must get back to the garden
Bombers into butterflies
We must get back to the garden