My relationship with God (no one ever really wins)

I creep toward his kiss with arms raised;

I still wage my war

with faith

in the center

of my dismissal

and live crookedly somewhere between




I creep out of fear;

sometimes I love him

other times I want nothing to do with him

but our kisses are always the same



I prefer him when he's drunk,

I understand him better

the fable

less guarded,

and he lets me read between the lines.

He is a rebel;

poking his head around the corner.

Running me down

in his new sports car



and he watched as icicles formed against my eyes.

I defy


and come clothed in red.

We ignore each other

when times get bad,

I don't look to him

and he stops looking after me

that is

if he wasn't just in my head to begin with.

I creep toward his kiss

with arms raised;

I'm only honest

through my lies

but the words between us

are always better left unsaid.

I don't show him mine

(after all he's never showed me his)

but the kiss between us is still good

and stops me in my tracks

lovely blurred lines,


in his mansion of gold.

I can't help but shutter

when he pulls me aside

to lay down the law

as though

I could ever take orders

from someone so aloof.

He likes to climb the roof to reach my window

and keeps his moans quit enough

so that my parents will remain sleeping;

but he's always had control over those kinds of things.




are constantly in a gun fight,

he and his metal,

his wars,

his killing power,

and me




(my bullets are made of lust)

(my bullets are made of peace)

(my bullets are made of little-girl-love.)

I can't help laughing

from his logic,

his lessons.

The deeper meaning

behind a man

who cast his finger fickle

toward the only way

for us;

his children

to continue living.

The man

who painted me


of his flesh

to purify my pain,

he always seems cheerful when he's with me

-it makes me sick-

but with his one-more-time dirty looks

I threw my innocence at him

like a piece of Wedgwood

that hangs across this mansion like windows

(I would have kept it longer

had I known how valuable it would later become.)

I creep toward his kiss with arms raised.

we are always fighting

but neither of us ever really wins.