prayer to the open sky

heat of the day, twenty year summer vacation

leave now or never leave at all.

bitten fingernails, grasping. my skull underwater, waiting. promises to keep the door unlocked forgotten, overwhelmed by a pit in my stomach. but he won’t let me leave this way.

formed decades ago between redemption and desire, the god i believe in stands in a burning forest. he holds the torch. intimidated by my tribulations, he’s only a strange encounter.

i still hold my own hand to talk to him. i’m not sure why, not sure if it helps either of us. it never brought me closer to him.

sometimes i think this life of mine requires a savior, but i glance up at the sky and no one looks back. no one peers over the clouds and shouts: ‘you’re forgiven. you’re forgiven. you’re forgiven. i love you. that cannot be taken away.’

i’m the only one in this story, i’m not sure how to tell it. i’m meant to be more than this. moths eat all the lives i have slipped in and out of.

(i was nine years old. gone for five days. found three towns over floating in a motel swimming pool. the light’s still on. i’ve been meaning to turn it off.)

home back then was covered in phantom crosses and adulthood hysteria. it scared you early on. your adolescence diffusing, temptation lingering. you vanished without a trace.

dreamless nights, morning visions drowned out by tv static. it’s 2:21 am, i hear lies whisper down from heaven.

tell me which hallucinations are worth tending to.

silence falls. sometimes i need to hear a voice so i can respond to it.