I awake to blot out the blinking white. Damn sensitive eyes, the baby at the end of the tunnel. The Fear, the one in all of my nightmares. This isn't enough to take the day off work. I thought I gave up being Christian when I became a sinner, but my art still sounds like a Hail Mary, like a please forgive me, like the bus still hasn't come and don't feel like I can wait any longer, but can. Because I'm trained in waiting. Patience is, after all, a virtue. He still Haunts me, capital H. I am still the worst I have ever been. My eyes get weak they get tired they don't want to see that change is not my idea it's my prerogative. Blackness is just all of the colors at once. This is It. I mean capital I, It. And I should be on my knees, but oral sex is not and has never been Christian.