I saw you praying in the back of your closet,
Like a picture in my grandmothers bible, with your head bent down
Well you looked holier than all the crosses out on highway 12.
We buried your mother’s dog in the backyard last November,
Now it’s September and I’ll still catch you sleeping there.
Ruining your pressed white shirts in the early Sunday rain.
Dried mud caked in your hair by the time that you’re awake.
Last year, you gave me a joke promise ring,
And I’ve been wearing it, and it’s slowing turning all my fingers green,
Like the moss under your head when you’re passed out asleep,
And I really hope that you’re feeling better by this time next week,
But if you don’t, I’ll still be waiting in the afternoon with a towel to dry you off.
I’ll find church lawns and steal you statues of Mary,
Lay all of them in rows beside your bed,
So you can know there’s something bigger than us all in the end,
And I don’t believe it, I just think that we die.
But I know we all need fairy-tales sometimes,
And I don’t think that makes you weak,
I just think that means you want a little peace.
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