When Only Paper Can Save

I Pray to Satisfy You

The ceiling

is my friend,

he's

the only one

that comprehends.

My heart feels heavy

on the mattress;

lips are the pits

that collect

all the sorrows into madness.

Walls are covered

by sanctuaries and

holiness;

oil eyes that have elevated

to the skies

can't dissolve

the loneliness.

The blankets and pillows

have tasted

the sweat and salt

of

broken hearts.

Cold and warmth clash

when the memorized footsteps

shake the paint;

curled up in a

womb of a loving

mother that

had the decency to

wait.

Body dries the pain off itself

and enlarges into

a masked character;

warm hands

rub cream on

the face to prepare for

forced sincerity.

Proud frame between two lone

walls blocked

and opened

by

a door;

glass protecting the picture and wood that

supports holds

pictures of children that

fall to the floor.

Pillows stacked and back

layered straight, 

same dusty

book in hand

on a random page

that waits for

its faith.

The patting

of old feet gets closer and

my shoulders roll

to unfold.

Words of time, disgrace,

and Christ are meet by hot

emancipated tears

that are sacrificed.

The door handle begins

to turn and

twist with hardship,

something

I've learned

to hatefully worship.

Crumbling surroundings are

always left to disintegrate

more until they're

suffering

and beg to

be replaced.

The sound stops, the footsteps

torture my ears

as if the world was about

to end if

I'm not reminded about

my sins.

"No te olvides de orarle a papá Dios."

and

"El ángel de la guardia."

is all I hear,

even when my mind loses itself

in hell you

only show countless disciplines.

See my life go down

as I get

off the bed and on my knees.

Your old frame leaves

the room, my

soul shatters

as if it will never know peace.

You're my worst nightmare

even out of the

dreams were you support

the devils

desires, now every time I break

you'll never fix me

and use me

for bonfires.

You make me pray for something

that can only do so much;

remember the hurt

that surrounds me,

even if my sadness was

penned down on a

postcard with silver ink 

the mailbox

will always be

empty.