Dying For My Own Sins

i claw at the walls, but there is no way out. no ladder for the fallen, no hand reaching through the smoke. the door slammed shut the moment i whispered a prayer with no answer. the moment i looked at heaven and saw only an empty throne.

on this earth

i have lived it

if there is a god

he will beg for

my forgiveness

with red stained

fingertips and the sky

as my witness

i wear the burden

of knowing sin

and the guilt is

or maybe god is in the rainfall after a drought. kind, quiet relief.

she's the empty space between lovers as they catch their breath, one atop another, chests moving in sync.

god is in a nissan altima filled with smoke and laughter.

she is sound reverberating in an amphitheater, able to be heard from the parking lot.

she is whispered conversation and stolen glances.

god is in the first few moments after waking up in someone else's arms, bodies melting together in sickly warmth.

she is the 3am skyline, blurred and bright.

maybe holiness is not a state of being reserved for the rich and old but rather the default.