My heart
dies, an ancient
awful death inside
this chamber of
silence.

I forgot what's it like to
trust whole-heartedly
in someone, or something
to raise my hands
and close my eyes
and know
know for absolute
certain what the story
is, that I'm acting in
and how it ends.

When I go every week
to sit in pews to remind
myself what I'm supposed
to be believing
I can't even sing.
The words fall like
raindrops and needles
soaking and bleeding
my eyes as I read
them, my anxiety
overflows.

Here I stand empty
and coming here
adds emptiness
to my emptiness
till I'm carrying around
more containers than I
can hold.
They're strapped to
my back and my chest and my feet
and I can hardly
believe no one
notices.

How do they not
see all the rain
that never hits the
ground?

I stopped coming
to this place for
answers, they're
too hard to find
and I'm starting to
believe they may not
exist.

So I sit here with
my questions
burning holes in my
heart, or maybe
they're openings?
Sometimes they hurt
so bad I can't stand
it anymore.
And sometimes I just
listen, resting my
aching soul on
someone else's
trust for a minute.

If I can't believe
anymore, than maybe
someone else can

It's a funny thing
giving up
or almost giving up
but at the last second
finding a touch of
peace or grace and
turning the whole
train around.

The stillness scares
me and haunts me
yet it's the only
place I feel safe.
It's become my new
home, here in the dark
with little flashes of
light sometimes
coming in around the
edges. The quiet
here is calming
a cool balm to
my wounds
little shelves for my
questions to rest
upon in this waiting
place that's become
my friend, my solace
my hope.

When I leave here
the room fills up
with panic, coming
in on all sides
with teeth and
razors and voices
screaming and
judging and trying
to fix what can't
be fixed, and I'm
not even sure is even
broken.

This is
the end. This is
the end of where
everything that was
can take me, and if
I step over this line
will it be gone forever?
Or will I come back
around?

Will there be a time
when the stillness
leaves, and light
floods my darkness?
Or will I only know
sparks and sputters
from now till...

Some days I can live
with that, most days.
And every once in a while
I'll come across pure
trust. Certainty.
And I want to whisper
to that person

Stay here.
Cherish this.
Because when it's
gone, it's ******* gone

And maybe it's an
illusion in the
first place, but it's
still nice.
I can't go back
to black and white, and I
wouldn't, if I had
the choice.
But sometimes I
wish I could have
that peace of mind
that isn't built on
paradox or mystery
liminality, the
in between.

But here I am
wading in and out
following the waves to
the edge, or the center
I can't be sure.
Surprised by who I
meet floating along
out here.
Maybe my little boat
can bump into your's
and we can just
breathe, knowing
someone else feels
this same suffocating
peace.

And sitting around
the table
we can be together
in our aloneness.
And if we can't
touch a little bit of
light, we can at least
sit together in the
darkness.