Who raises their palms
to catch the petals that flake
from my hair?

Who is that listens
when my voice cracks
and the lungs within my chest
blow forth a distasteful
scream?

Who lowers their eyelids
and sentiment when the
waves break and my knuckles
are dirtied by the ocean in my
eyes?

Should my atoms erupt,
who turns to view?

The attention I prostrate myself in hopes for,
choking on my own hair and numbing my muscles,
does not take note, and should he speak,
I daren't reply.

My God,
I have sinned.

Hear my voice.