Psalms spoiled mid-sentence, ink bled through the covenant,
God left the line dead—divine’s gone insolvent.
I paced psoriatic halls of blame, grief-sponsored,
Crooked benedictions from ghosts I once sponsored.
Syntax with a limp, tongue twisted in subtext,
Echoes play judge where her wrath left the rug stretched.
Vestal revisions—she painted me pestilent,
While I prayed in the gaps, adjacent, desolate.
Archangels wept in the morgue of my motive,
Faith eroded—flesh framed like it’s votive.
Thought I housed warmth, but the hearth’s full of ash,
Laughed through the glass while my shelter collapsed.
Eyes in the plaster, past lives in the drywall,
Every name I don’t speak now hides in a side-hall.
Mercy’s on strike and my spine don’t petition,
Just drift in ellipsis through God’s dereliction.
Sleep feels like theft now, dreams drip in static,
Death’s been polite—just circlin’, pragmatic.
I beg for a hush, not even peace—just the silence,
Been stitched in the stitch of a looped act of violence.
Left by the prayers, the friends and the fiction,
I rot in the shadow of love’s dereliction.
Bones hum with boredom, soul pale and elastic,
I’m tired of mornings, my pulse feels sarcastic.
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