Let’s cover things up with a smile,
do the dishes, bite a fingernail or two,
& maybe set my bed on fire
while I sit and think:

No, I am not so bad after all.
After my words saw you in half
like a Texas Chainsaw Massacre,
but here you are in front of me
hunched over your bed, dejected,
losing your ground, your mother,
your books, your toys,
collapsing in a wormhole
vacuumed up by a Hoover.
Vultures circle
overhead to devour.
Maybe Satan is more of a vulture
because vultures devour
whatever is about to die—

seeing your mother
mutilate your faith
in a meek and lowly Jesus.
But no, no, no, I was not wrong!

My face would have been kicked in
by now, like a crushed soda can
and darkness feels so good
wrapped around me like a weighted blanket.
Heck!
Even the Texas Blind Salamander
thrives in darkness
in the underground
of San Marcos Texas
—beautiful! I know!
But light does bore holes
and God’s light beams in darkness.
So here I am, and I give up.
I was wrong. I’m sorry, my child. I am so sorry.