silent saturday

i don’t want to pray
i want to bash my fist into the wall
and then smear the blood all over my face

i don’t want to thank you, god
what kind of torture is it
to let doubt spread from a single sentence
and infect the marrow in bones
that have recently just healed

that does not seem kind or loving or even just —
too much of this world is wrong
(and the ants even suffer, too)

if i cannot go forward
then i am stuck here
but here is no place that i want to be

why this silent saturday,
why now?

these demons look an awful lot like
someone i used to know

and it doesn’t matter how many times i blink
there they still are
staring me right in the face