Drug Addicts God

That inner pleasure source
where you swear your God exists,
it's in that last place
you’re always forgetting where to look.
I don't want redemption now
or a refill from a newly found stash.
Step back and look at the totality,
that corner part of your soul,
where you swore 
you wouldn’t look at anymore.  
I must of heard this commotion 
a hundred times or more,
please God, if you can help me 
just this once
it will be a last and final time.  
Eventually, the events 
will start all over again
things will begin to build.  
The risk of taking the chance
in believing in a God
is a sorrowful dance
where the God may not respond.
Sometimes when words are spoken 
they get tangled and lost
It might take one hundred times
before we care care to listen.  
Don’t ignore that feeling you get
after you've prayed for hours
and yet, some will never see 
the miracle just performed
because their eyes are slightly jaded.  
Instead, people insist on following
their hollow and or false Gods.
My apologies, if I've misstated 
the drugged out relationships
we’ve previously fought for.  
Let me tell you 
there is this warm
smothering condition
a weighted blanket of sorts
that can pin and kiss your shoulders closed
it's a divine love-drawn feeling.
Take a chance today
get ahead of your thoughts
squarely kiss the delicate corners
of a tough decision.
Share your mind
with the rest of us
fill our love-controlled lives
where we're asked to write about
how it is to feel.
I can tell you I've saved the years
absorbed by some ill fated condition
that causes night sweating fevers
to be an excuse for all my writings.
I love you
it's an absurd condition I know
to be here praying
to a God I love
I'm not sure she's listening.
To the backs of hands
I can smell her windowless touch
in a building that's been all smashed out.
She's buried herself away
I'll pray even harder still
I haven't made a monument in forever,
since the old days
when I believed I was so much older.
I'm no longer afraid 
to lunge and jump
reaching for hopeless love.  
I am still the first to admit
that greed and desire are hard to fake.
Passion, on the other hand,
is never satisfied
unless of course
you know how to spin the bottle right.
Right? I hate having to ask you why
you're coming in so late
maybe it's another one of your nights
that I'm not supposed to mention
instead, I'll open a book
with ridiculously thin pages
and pretend I'm reading.
There's no way I could be expected
to memorize words that are forgotten
or no longer practiced.
It's been a lifetime
since I've seen you act in a way
where you cherish and hold sacred
the words on these delicate pages.
A two thousand year event,
as the story goes horribly wrong
some would say "sideways."
I can't profess I know
how to pray in a way
where I can hide the sins
from an hour ago.
I feel like we've come pretty far
since those days when we
fought for sunrise
to stay the fuck away.
Yesterday I was told about an event
simply because
silence wasn't a negotiated part
of the ancient contract
that I suppose
is what makes up this drug-like feeling
where 12 hours is a milestone.
Each new dipping
I swear I'll get a handle on this condition
it just feels too right
sitting here spilling
a string of very thoughtful images
hoping that you'll get your vision
and see these words 
instead of trying to read them.