i cannot find it in me to pray, but

[2025 version]

i half-kneel and say a half-prayer

that it will not always feel like this.

exhaust takes form in dark rooms,

curtains closed shut in desperation –

eyes drink in blackness,

addicting in its relief.

i half-kneel and say a half-prayer

that static television lines will no

longer flood my vision. that

the blur will clear

and the sun will shine through,

brightly.

i half-kneel and say a half-prayer

that a body at war (with itself)

will wave a white flag in surrender,

(hell hath no fury

like my sickness’ strength)