I’ve known You all my life, dedicating my life to the church and Your name. I’ve been devout, always proclaiming Your name in my life, claiming that I follow You at all times and in all my ways, and I know I should be praying but I haven’t in such a long time, thinking egotistically that somehow I can save myself and that I have to solve my problems by myself— but now things are so fucked up that I need to pray— what do I even say to You? You Who knows everything and knows all things, from Whom flows all Being and Creation—You Who shaped me in my mother’s womb and gave me the Breath of Life—what could I possibly say to You that You don’t already know except what the fuck happened? I followed Your every instruction, went to college where You wanted me to go, met a woman and loved her like You told me to, and yet she betrayed me—she cheat on me, God! And yet You told me to love her! What happened? Did I not follow Your instruction to a T? Did I not follow You?! I know I have anger, and I know I became complacent, but what else did I do wrong for this to happen? And as I’ve distanced myself from her, I realize I’ve betrayed You, taking nothing from our marriage, committing adultery on the Groom who gave Himself for me, and I’ve fucked someone else in our matrimonial bed—how much does it hurt God? Do You actually know my pain? I want to burn that bed to ash like I’ve burned down our commitment and our covenant—I want to cover myself in those ashes and rend my shirt just to curse Your name finally—I've been in the church all my life but all I found was watered down spirituality so that I have my fist raised high for the bliss it is, to finally have a Christ to crucify and then to kiss—but I didn’t crucify You— I took on all my own problems and tried to change myself while whipping my own back just to punish myself so that You wouldn’t have to get Your hands dirty— because my hands are already bloody. I listened to You, God. And now I cry my God, my God, why have You forsaken me? I call out to You but You never answer, and I weep on Your shoulder, but You don’t seem to listen. What are You doing? I am drowning, but You haven’t sent a fish to swallow me whole, and You haven’t shown me a burning bush calling me out of the desert, and You haven’t sent a prophetic vision to guide me—I rest my head on rocks while the quicksand and tar slowly swallow me and suffocate me, fossilize me while I die. This is the end of me, God. Do You even care? I am wandering the desert waiting upon Your deliverance—how long do You want me to wander dehydrated and famished?— when will this storm finally pass?— what are You doing to me, God? Did You lie to me when You told me to love? What do I do now? I’ve tried chocking this all up to free will but now I’m turning to You because I loved like You told me to! Why would You tell me to love if You knew I would destroy my commitment like this? I don’t believe You’re cruel and conniving, but after this I’m starting to question it. What are You trying to prove? My faith is shaken, and I doubt Your goodness, but I have to know—is there a balm to heal my sin-sick soul, to make the wounded whole? Am I your bride adorned in garments of salvation torn promised to an air sign? Am I still not saved? Was I not sufficiently ashamed? Neither did I blush save to speak Your name. Can I trust in Your goodness and love, and in Your anger can I find no sin— in my anger can I find no sin? Then let fiery rain and brimstone come falling down on the Cities of the Plain, because now’s as dreadful a time as any to begin—destroy me vengefully.