I stand petrified on a cliff
with an unlit candle

in one hand a crochet hook
in the other.

a beige curtain is rippling
below, and I want to leap

through the cascade of polyester.
but nightmares exist

only in sleep, where God's
voice can be heard

in the contorted amen
which echoes in my hollowed chest.

and in my final moments when
I stand above the curtained ocean,

A pillow in one hand
and nothing in the other.

in the last few seconds of lucid thought,
I am too terrified for prayer.

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