I feel so unintelligent today. The words stick like Holy Hosts to the roof of my mouth, and no dislodging by a sacrilegious writhing tongue can set them free.
Bowing head nor gazing at the heavens will release the thoughts that fly like angels pricked by pitchforks in my brain. Silence, meditation, doubt and useless joy that turns to evil beings that flicker, snicker, laugh in glee at Christian plight.
I need the open air and sunlight to see better by. I need the open sky.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology