I awoke each morning to pray, no one answered.
An angel perched on my shoulder, snickered like a demon
but giggled a hymn I wished to know.
The next day, no one was there.
The angel returned, perched on my headboard
slouched forward like a gargoyle. “Try again,” she whispered.
Too impatient for morning, I sat up in my bed.
Shadows splattered my ceiling and the lights flickered till burnt.
Small claws dug into my shoulder like needles and a voice whispered:
“Those who believe do not wait.”
More needles plunged into my back, pushing me
I awoke to silence: no hymns or giggles above my bed.
No one should ever explain why a religion is dead.