The Religion of Wrong

Damage control. Persuasions of right. In all its forms. Broken arms aruging with the cast. In murmured freefalls. As if no one else is there. The colors of hard discussing how to heal. Below the skin. Calcium on strings. Kites teasing the sky. In splinters. Marrow. Confiding in the flesh. How lonely it is. Alone inside the bone. Rigid. And unable to feel all the things happening to this life.

The skin. This profound mass of oragn tends to dominate everything. The skeleton waits for its chance. it just hasn't eyes to see it coming.

Sadly, I was the only one present when God finally admitted his accident.