an afterword on stagnation.

“isolation is not safety, it is death. if no one knows you’re alive, you aren’t.”

god said give. now, god says heal.

everything is a sacrifice now. i was baptized in waters i didn’t fully understand.

all i am is flesh and bone, a half-open creature fueled by violence. my past stains and echoes, it all became nothing more than childhood horror stories. what will it take to be forgiven? what must i give up to be seen?

god is a simulacrum. i inherited his sickness.

crimson liquid spread from his palms to mine, feverish and raw. he’s both the saviour and the killer; a problem of my own making, of my own creation.

there is no proof of how you got here. / there are no answers. / endure what you prayed for. / ash will stain your bleeding heart.

sainthood mourns at our heels. forgotten prayers rest on the altar, we were not chosen. i was not chosen.

god is an old form of hunger. i cannot bear him, i cannot let him in. but no one else is coming.

it is sunday. this is a death sentence. his false lanterns only lead the way for so long.

so close to divinity, yet god isn’t looking in my direction.

i shout at his shadow: “THERE ARE NO WINNERS HERE. I AM NOT WHAT YOU MADE ME. FIRE TOOK MY FAITH AND LEFT ME WITH SIN. I AM GOING TO LOSE. YOU MUST KNOW THIS. I AM I AM I AM. THE ANGELS WILL ARRIVE, BUT NOT TO HELP OR GUIDE. ONLY TO WATCH ME FAIL OVER AND OVER AND OVER.”

i plunge out into a darkness unwilling to shelter my spiraling sanity. the rising sun will find me later. he always does.

ghosts tread lightly behind me. / neon nostalgia haunts. / unable to grow older, youth lost to forces outside of their control. / there are other ways to end up in those holy pages. / stay until kerosene no longer chants your name. / here’s a second chance. / honor the before and after. i need you on my side.

it will hurt either way.

it shouldn’t, but it will.