To the God of Gas Station Bathrooms

To the God of the Cheapest Pregnancy Tests, 

the God of Desperation and the Morning After, 

the God of McDonald’s Dollar Menu, the God of Expired 

Baked Goods, God of Uncleaned Tiles and Lifting, 

Blackened Grout, God of Bleached and Hosed Walls.

To the God of Overdoses, the God of Narcan, 

To the God who watches over the destitute 

and derailed, the travelers and the forever 

inert. To the God who revives 

only a few. God of Cruel Judgment, God of Faulty 

Rebirth. I have prayed to you the most, 

God of the Gas Station Bathrooms I got high in, 

and the ones I didn’t. I have prayed to you, 

let someone knock before I break this bundle open, 

I have prayed to you, let me pretend 

this is a secret. I have prayed to you 

for just one more, I have prayed to you 

for never again. I have prayed to you, 

let the drugs work tonight. I have prayed to you, 

let me wake up to a new life. I have prayed to you, 

let this bag be the one that kills me. 

I think you want me to tell you I’m grateful 

to have survived, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth. 

The truth is, I don’t know why I’m still here. 

There are days my body is heavy with shovelfuls of guilt. 

It’s called Survivor’s Guilt for a reason. Why not Phil, 

who taught me to be a sneakerhead,

why not Diane, why not Sean? Why not Debbie, 

who told me my hair looked like cotton candy, 

why not Mike, why not Matthew? Or Sam, 

or Joe, or Angela? You know there are more 

names, there will always be more names. 

There are more names than I can remember. 

There are names on the periphery of my memory, 

names blurred together to form a litany. 

There are names graffitied on your walls; 

the prayers you never answered, their parents 

weeping over their waxy bodies. 

Am I supposed to be grateful for the funerals? 

Am I supposed to feel saved? 

Am I supposed to feel chosen? 

Are you happy with your choices? 

God of Fractured Light Leaking Under 

the Peeling Door, sometimes I just want to get high. 

Sometimes, I want to throw my life away 

because I can’t even decide on a pair 

of shoes and I can’t ask Phil. Sometimes, 

luck feels like a burden, and sometimes 

I don’t want to endure it. I want to feel 

like I’m worth it. So, God of the Gutter, 

who should I pray to now?