Kitchen Conviction

I’m in this kitchen
With the windows caved in
With my soul sitting on death
Blackened colors spin around me,
Red is the clot that is not in me, the
Color he bled, that makes me dead
And unsure, and in this thermometer,
I am front and center in your heat,
Let’s be honest no one is honest,
No not one, I click behind the screen,
Invading the pieces, taking them with
Me, storing up wrath for myself,
Putting conviction on the shelf,
In this kitchen I am not smelling
Mercy, or grace, or a new space
Reserved in heaven for me,
The dishes click, warm does drip,
Blood finds me broken on a Friday,
When the lonely roam these streets
And line these American dreams,
All are dying, I am honest about this,
I am the unclean serpent, I am friends
With it, I am addiction, I am a
Codependent fiction tale,
Showing up weekly to
Make recovery real,
In this kitchen let me
Have the conviction,
You are cooking mercy,
And cooking the feast
In the presence of my enemies,
I love you Jesus, you embraced
It for me

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