deflate the airs of death pregnant without, before I give birth to a disease. chilled billows rolled up on my backbone, my kneels withers from its loads, as my feet refuse to keep the faith. i live among the dead, every day they kill me, everyday i woke up to face another death. i want to live, I chose to live, and that kind of living is a devotion I cannot do away with.

safe soul. O’ safe soul. It is okay to die a million times among the dead, but don’t bury yourself with the guilt of death. that death is heavier than the man who carried the skies on his fragile shoulders, across dark deeps.

burn the bridges. the one’s made by your own hands. legions of doomsday parades at the gates of decisions to assault your heart with apostasy. you will despair, and like the prodigal: home will be far away from you, deep within. you don’t choose your home, your home chose you. where is my home? your home is love unabridged. your home is the dwelling of Earth-Maker, built on the premises of kindness and grace.

we are at home with ourselves and you. when the soul is safe from the noise. deflate the airs of guilt drumming inside; turning safe houses into graveyards and evergreens into deserts.

AgM. | Metanoia | March 13, 2020 | c: unknown artist