All things are full of gods
and I will not question that.
It's an idea worthy of my belief.
Naive in my logic-
because the sun is out
and I still feel cold.
So I sit in this chair
facing a bright screen
and my neglected envy,
trying to combat
this camouflaged colossus
with my flaws-
reiterated flaws.
I write confessions to gobble up that piece of me
that no one needs to see.
I let this orison touch tangible like a first kiss;
And I do it because I never feel alone
except for when this prayer takes shape.
I know, it's strange
you'd think that an empty room would be enough
to make a poet feel lonely
but the Sun shines so brightly outside of my window.
that my depression is as elusive as roof tops
and as subtle as a dream
or a blink
that reality
will never noticed.
