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high mass

Ryan Crawford
May 19, 2025
1 min read

By Ryan Crawford



Lord, i am not worthy

 

instead i paint my lies like my mother paints her nails

cheap dollar-store red & by the TV

               & i pray for what feels like a decade

 

that you should enter

 

the second-hand smoke in the living room

               our own private incense

 

               descending into lines of adoration

because i never know what to tell you in naked air

or whether I can stay

 

under my roof

 

for much longer.

besides, smoke is only air

with a few lives between

birth & disappearing

 

but only say the word

 

and it'll stay a bit longer

but so will i

               waiting

 

and my soul shall be



 

somewhere between the couch

               & town 

​

healed

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