Oh Lord, who lies somewhere
(who probably isn't there),
Save us.
Save us from alarm clocks
that enact tragedy
and march us into our showers with megaphones made for camps.
Save us from the ghosts of housemates
who are announced only by the opening and closing of doors,
whose T.V. peace is disturbed by our loud weird taste in music,who keep us awkward when they argue with their partner about when to do the laundry, where to go on holiday and why he posted naked pictures of himself on the Internet.
Save us from the estate agents
who never call us back,
who sit in plastic offices in polyester suits with polystyrene coffee cups plotting the downfall of the young.
Save us from the pictures of everyone
who is having a better time than us.
Save us from the sex
which we make to mean nothing
and which personally I think isn't really for me.
And save us
finally
from ourselves.
For we know not what we do,
we don't know where we're going,
don't know who we'll live with next year.
We can't be sure we'll ever fuck again,
fall in love again,
write draw read scrawl scribble scrape again.
We don't know what we're having for dinner tonight.
For confused is your name,
and you can keep your Kingdom
and the Power
and the Glory,
as long as in return
we gain the knowledge
that we will never stay the same
and also never change.
Chris James Hall October 29 2012