transatlanticism.

everything i thought i knew is falling out of view.

rising holy sun lurks down primrose paths taunted by what it took to get here.

six years of souls unraveling from one another. will you still love him if this plan prevails?

tell the congregation how it felt to be near his light. remember to call him by all the right names this time.

flimsy mourning words slips from your mouth, wet as tearsalt. you never learned to lie. but they don’t hear what you say. they never have.

regardless, your bad luck and anguish still have not been washed away. grief has already crossed the threshold.

it goes door to door marking its claim on your ash-stained bishops. a warning, a sacrifice with no witnesses to appreciate the slaughter.

plagued daydream after plagued daydream. haven’t you done all this before?

smother the bittersweet aroma of questionable faith. that path no longer offers comfort as it did when you were young.

how long will you struggle to attain this miracle? you must fall out of orbit soon.

he’s waiting for you (he isn’t he isn’t he isn’t). he is.