Untitled 22

The prayer I had struggled so hard to keep suspended around my neck tore through the skin and fell to the earth. My vocal cords, knotted into silence, could no longer give shape to a sentence. How unbearable that the hiss and rasp of breath could never take the place of prayer. As the days pass, our heads grow heavier. Our spines and knees can no longer bear the weight. We stagger, until at last we draw closer to the ground. Born of earth, returning to earth— somehow, we seem more wretched now than when we were expelled from the womb.