When God watched me sleep,
he smelled of evergreen trees
and his hair fell about the night sky
in a cacophony of golden webs.

[Disturbed by the goings on,
he asked me,
"My child, can't you settle your mind?"
And to God, I replied:
I give my deepest sorrows to your charity.]

And with his weathered, calloused hands,
God wiped away the ash from my porcelain face.
His breath against my concave chest;
from what should my new life be born?

[Concerned by the respiratory arrest,
he asked me,
"What does it take to get on a first-name basis?"
And to God, I replied:
A more firm belief in fairytales.]

Optimism fed through my veins intravenously;
God sits sick in the emergency room.
And from there he prays,
that his holiest army suffer no more casualties.

[Frustrated by the indeciveness,
he asked me,
"What about you makes any difference?"
And to God, I replied:
I'm well preserved.]

This morning I woke up and I thought, "I don't talk to myself nearly enough." So here I am. To talk to myself.

About how I really need to clean, really need to apply myself, really need better friends. I could use a sturdier backbone too.

:]