A white lamb


Two slices of bread
Is facing towards us
Even though
The altar had been placed
Infront
The heavens feel nowhere near
The
Loudness of my fallen rosary
Its ends draped 
I am sick
Looking at the same image
 In the white sheets
It is irksome
 It makes a stark difference
That I could feel growing hotness
At the back of my neck,
Like it had ignited a candle
telling me to find the words I would not want to utter
It is like that feeling
of the beast trying to take a bite of that bread,
inside a small shell of a body,
a speckle crawling outside
the ridges of a plate
I am finding it more beautiful under the yellow glow
It makes us all look sick, but things endearing, more of that, it makes cheap things look like gold
Why do I find it so far away
it makes a distinct look of delight
but leaves distaste in my mouth
Emptiness is patient
My waiting 
Late
I was told prayers make
the untruth be true.

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