lightning struck, sings like plague.

even the thunderstorms ain’t try to track me down.

(hey, god, can you hear me in the absence of the thunder? can you see me without all the lightning? i can’t think of summer without wanting to crash my car.)

holy sounds singing like plague. replaying, replaying, replaying. /

i almost ran over an angel. there on the asphalt, godthing in jeans reversing death. endless spasms, ongoing destruction. weeping. / wailing. / alive. itching to rid themself of this tender skin. my foot on the gas ready to grant a miracle. god? unaware. unamused. unavailable to carry out the funeral rites.

he turned off his lights and went to bed.

/ this happened too many times. this happened too many times.

what will make him notice?

this shared language of ours only stretches so far. maybe i should ask for a sign or a verse from a book we’re both unfamiliar with.

i know that being man isn’t a father, but he is something who can save me. i bled for him to get up there.

he’s both the saviour and the killer; a problem of my own making, my own creation. he digs a hole for me to get out of, i stay.