i call to them
in persuit of tranquility.
my trivial sufferings, repentance,
infinite prayers, a whisper,
the murmur of my solitude
in which candlelight is so close
eyelashes singe
lips crinkle and chap
like alligator skin.
i confess
until
my thoughts
run dry.
i am a witch.
murals of euphoria
paint the moon
in a silver wash
as ten hundred spells
pry themselves
from a heavy jaw.
saltwater dribbles
seeping from beneath
eyelids sewn shut:
spider webs
whispy pleas.
chest heaving,
the air i breathe
is desperate for an answer.
god is dead.
heaven is surely a
madman's hopeless look-forward.
unripened virtues tumble
like currents of the river
from neck to ear.
i am a nihilist, yet,
this paganism of countless deities
where i am a godless goddess-
it haunts me.
i know no one hears me.
fermented fragments of belief
litter my cast circle
filled with stars and vast meanings
i cannot grasp.
"you run with the devil"
they tell me.
comprehend-
he was my singular solace
in times when i felt life
was entirely undesirable.
i would dissipate gladly
with my notebook of sins
into that ever-fabled realm.
terrible am i, child,
even if you don't mind.
and coming from a body
that will never know remorse
i beg for forgiveness
all too often.
blessed be.