I had stopped looking for God
in the crossfire of my Sunday mornings.
Bitter coffee spiteful
of prayers left unheard and
nightmares laid certain.

I cannot love you.
I have not much left to give. I am
too busy self destructing to love
anyone else’s scars other than
my own. So don’t make me
sing hymns to your name when I
can barely sing myself to sleep.

I cannot love you.
You had made an atheist out
of a devout, blind servant and now the
glaring dimness of stained glass
windows amidst the dull
murmur of trains engines

Damn me then.

With all those deemed despicable
who had never tasted a drop
of your divine kindness. Scratch my
cheeks with forgiveness, ripping
flesh and bone in
holy intervention.

Damn me then.

Damn me then.

Damn me.



Published by

cie miraflor

A Filipino at heart and a Thomasian in spirit. A vocalist. A bookworm. A chocoholic. A liar. A dreamer. A coffee addict. A writer of poetry and short stories. A pending Information Technologist. A frustrated programmer. Blinded with love for Batman.

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