the failings of a surgically healed heart | a collection

5 | what am i to do if heaven is no better than earth?

and on the off chance i make it to heaven,

my reward,

for a life devoted to being

the good kind of catholic:

the sort who

quarantines themselves to a convent,

bathes in holy water

to clean out the bad thoughts;

the desire

for another woman's flesh,

suffers through

the great depression

aware it will serve as spiritual currency

only to discover there -

is not much different from here

that christ, himself is depressed

in eternal paradise;

feels guilty because of it.

and after his betrayal by judas -

a man who loved him,

in ways not entirely holy -

finds it difficult trusting

those close to him;

is forever a sufferer, of

post-traumatic stress disorder

following his crucifixion:

the scars on his hands and feet

a reminder

of how much he sought

to gain his father's approval

even if it meant

going forward with a suicide mission;

this cruel parade

in which,

a starving and dehydrated man,

carries the cross he will be stapled to

while townsfolk

gawk, and laugh and make a mockery

of the ordeal;

while his mother -

too unsullied and pure to watch

such violence -

endures it anyway,

while he cries out for his father,

but finds he is nowhere

to be seen

and this is, perhaps my greatest fear:

that the only difference between

heaven and earth,

is heaven is a place brimming

with regret;

oversaturated with those

who should have known better

than to think

there could ever be utopia

with souls as ruined as ours

- and if that is the case, i hope there is nothing after i die. i don't think i could survive much else

--

if i'm being real this is probably my favourite poem in the part.