Porcelain priest

I wonder if the look upon my face expresses the life that i waste
when confessing to the porcelain priest, my shiny dumb face
materializes, pushes a teardrop into bile, and no it hasn't yet
been awhile, since the last time we met.

I wonder if this smile can hide
all the lonliness i brush aside,
for surely these teeth are a sign that my sins
are tunnelling their way out again.

I wonder if i am alone and whether or not i am to blame
for all the shrapnel left over from all the explosions in my brain
and i wonder if i am hollowing out my insides to start anew
to create a space for a kinder, gentler you.

And so, i wonder if you can even hear me,
simultaneously sensing, that in the end it doesn't really matter if you do.