god is crying to me about the bad men in the street
and says it was a mistake and i know i am the mistake,
i know god did what she could while fire ate the bodies
and now, god installs light in my bedroom but
when i cry, it won't matter so i draw the curtains,
put the knife in a tree trunk and say please don't leave me
but god is still crying and i don't care because rain is pooling
in the dark like dead things i forgot to name and it is easy
to kill the parts of me that ache like survival instinct or
something to help me keep walking when the ground falls away
and i feel unlovable but i have too many hands now, too little
feeling to recognize god's pain; all the pain is in my stomach
and i am begging god to love me because the dirt is cold
inside my mouth but god is shapeless in the dark