Your God is in the stars
while mine is in a bottle.
Sitting in the cupboard,
waiting to be swallowed.

Both numb the world,
distract from the questions.
Your answer is in a prayer
while mine is a prescription.

Just another way to numb.
Just another way to dim.
It's a vacation from the pain,
only a bridge close to its end.

Your God is a weekly fix,
while mine is once a day.
Your's demands attention,
while mine quietly awaits.

You get low,
on the ground.
Head down,
eyes closed.

I reach up,
twist and pour.
Head back,
eyes closed.

You preach and I cower.
My God hides in shadows,
your God brags,
hanging high from the rafters.

Pounding on books
or pounding down pills.
The line is thin,
the sides blur.

Your God is in the stars.
Mine awaits in the cupboard,
hidden among the dishes,
whispering a better tomorrow.