On the Floor

I moved from the chair,
to the couch,
to the floor – 
I don’t want to pray,
or fight anymore.

This fantasy of joy,
may dance in your mind,
but this grief is too heavy,
to hope I’m blind.

What does God want to teach?
What’s He trying to reveal?
Why the fuck is He allowing 
the enemy to steal?

Yes I said it,
life isn’t pretty,
Comedians hang themseleves 
because you expect only witty.
As tragedies loom
and thoughts suffocate
and some rise with joy 
while others can’t fake.

Anger and hate,
most heaped on myself,
desperate to move,
but for this no help.

So I lie on the floor
in a flood of my tears
alone in this space 
carrying these fears
Catching a glimpse 
of buildings that rise
and turning away
and closing my eyes.


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