If There Was A God
If there was a god would my scars still ache, reach into me and find things to break?
Would it be too much to ask to wake up without not wanting to wake up,
ready to claw my eyes out for all the beauty people can’t see,
because of the space I take up.
If there was a god would monsters be so wonderful, taste bitterer then tears,
always nothing to run to, something to be afraid of, a little sun for you to do,
the heat cascading and scathing like desert storms and alone,
you are left to plead with your one master, your captor.
If there was a god why is there heroin? If there is heroin why is there a god?
Ventilator compassionate nurse ratchet playing games with what he hatches,
or a soft, effulgent joy that resonates deep within everything,
that I cannot see.