Sunday 23rd March, 2025 Split me open and cut my throat with your gospel of a thousand needles. Last Sunday I was witness to the Great Process in which light is given and taken, also: redistributed. On my knees, he swung his swollen dick and mock-drowned me in an ocean weaved out of a million of drops, also: a single drop made out of an ocean. I come from a small town that conditioned me not to kill spiders out of the fear of rain. In July drought, my grandmother would harvest final life out of wild strawberries and press them on my lips with a blessing of a beautiful future, somewhere far away. And so I kneel at the altar of infinity, the sting of tears hitting the corners of my eyes, mucus running down my nose, I am suffocated by God. I pray.