Of a God Not There
I should be dead by now,
Not eating micro waved Banquet
Pot pie for dinner past 3 AM,
Count maximum hours of sleep
Before I see my therapist tomorrow.
Living should be long over and gone:
Heart attack, suicide, massive stroke, or
Drunk-drive-death at eighty miles per.
I waste the god’s time and crap on mine:
A bowl of Frosted Flakes before
Reruns of “Cheers” every weekday at 12,
Then throw-away nights alone.
I should try harder to lay it down in the mud:
Drink ’till I’m blind,
Don’t pay rent or for TV,
Stop treatment, therapy, church, and love,
Quit Duel Recovery Anonymous meetings,
Tell God to leave me the alone,
Return to self-injury,
And basically don’t give a flying about
Anything, me, or the thought of a god not there.
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