no room for two.

helpless failures in the dark, lost.

this story begins with a wounded memory bruised three lifetimes over.

something is out for us. for me.

the haunting collapses in on itself.

unfinished business rots underneath my grave. hazy, indistinct, out of place. i can’t look at what i did. i can’t move my place in line.

open your eyes for me. have you found the meaning of punishment?

my soul is home to things you won’t name or cradle. it is holier than i expected, more than i deserve.

lately, i’ve been reinventing god. i don’t want him to see me, but i want him there. i want him to like me.

(safety won’t reach out with the soul hidden away.)

i wanted to go to the desert and dig up a miracle. so i went. hours and hours of wandering a decaying labyrinth erased by daylight. who knew the sun could be so violently misleading?

god calls. resentment coats the telephone cord, i cut it off. he tries again. a gift carelessly entrusted, but mine. a broken record of false starts and ‘greener’ grass.

decades push forward before i realize i must answer. i answered. i’m answering.

there’s no room for two. i can’t move my place in line. i’m trying.