i go to sleep and i think about death, about

dying, about what remains in the embers.

whether my body will rot or if flowers will bloom

between my ribs. forgive me father, for i have sinned,

i don’t want to go to hell, so take me to the confessional.

show me god and make me repent.

i wake up and i think about death, about

dying, about whether the sun will rise again or if

we’re doomed. i make god a picnic in the park and we eat

charcuterie in the afternoon. she asks for an explanation, why

my soul has given up. i tell her there is no honour in pride and

she leaves me alone in the grass.

i go to work and i think about death, about

dying, about what it means to be a good person and if i am one.

i don’t want to know the answer. it’s raining and god spoils the ending:

you’re a good person with a black heart. i go back to my emails, i tell

matt from accounting he’s doing a great job, i kiss amy in the lunch room.

a good person with a black heart.

i go home and i think about death, about

dying, about what it means to survive and who is worthy.

life in the shadows, i hide and i sin. i take amy to bed and tell her

she’s beautiful. god stands in the corner and tells me i’ll never get

to heaven. so i find it between your teeth instead, in your cherry

lipstick and your velvet tongue.

i go to sleep and i think about dying, about

death, about judgement day. a good person with a black heart:

what does it mean to balance the scales? what does it mean to

achieve the impossible? the sun rises and i start again. i hide

and i sin, i try and find honour in pride. i make god a picnic

in the park and i await the day of reckoning.